Dual Pendulums
by StrangerInAStrangeWorld
Summary: A Zanpakutou is born from a soul's resolve, from its dreams and failures. Nimaiya Ouetsu himself laid down this law. But Nimaiya didn't make the laws that govern death and rebirth, and he meets his first anomaly when a soul fails to be born in the proper world and dreams to change its new one. (Dreaming of Sunshine-inspired SI, OC as Shinji Hirako's elder sister, set pre-TBTP)
1. Spring Flower Unfolds

_Arc: Butterfly Wings_

 _Arc Flower: Calla Lily_

* * *

No, I don't remember dying, except for the fact that I definitely did. Die, that is. My memory for important events in my life always was iffy. First off, I'm fairly certain that remembering would break the rules of the universe. Second off, you're an ass for trying to make me remember. What if it was suicide, huh? Or some drawn-out illness, or starvation, or something like that? Would I want to revisit those memories? Of course not. Don't ask again.

But I'm pretty sure it wasn't suicide. I was the most optimistic pessimist I knew in life, certain that everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket but equally convinced that I could find a way to pluck that handbasket out of the inferno with only a couple singe marks to show for it. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't starvation. Food, when I'd remembered there was a world beyond my room, had been one of my joys in life. Cleaning up after myself when I'd finished, not so much.

As for breaking the rules of the universe, I don't trust those. If they were really all that ironclad, I wouldn't have ended up in the wrong world. I'd make a quip about your reaction being similar to mine when I figured it out, but I seem to recall some truly terrible lines from fanfiction that had somebody switching worlds and ending up here. Only usually 'here' was the living world of the Bleach universe, not Soul Society, and switching was some kind of magical accident that never got explained properly, not dying.

Yes, the Bleach universe. Apparently God decided to see what would happen when an anime nerd got thrown into her favorite series. I plan on having a word with Him if I ever make it through the pearly gates. He'd better have a good explanation for this.

And speaking of explanations, my first reaction when I realized where I was was closer to 'so that's how nobles have kids' than 'oh shit I'm not in the right universe.' Multiverse. Still not all that clear on how it works. I've determined that I'm not in my time, let alone my world, so there's the possibility that when I got reincarnated my soul slipped through the cracks and fell into the wrong era. If that's true, then a good part of my upbringing was a lie, but at least I'll have the comfort of knowing that familiar places and people will still exist. If my soul hopped worlds altogether, something that would probably fry my brain to understand is at work. But at least I won't have to worry about accidentally preventing myself from being born.

You might be wondering how I figured out what time I'm in. Until I was the Soul equivalent of four, I didn't have a clue. All I knew was that I didn't look like me, that whatever language was being spoken was a hell of a lot closer to Japanese than Hebrew or whatever angels spoke, and that the people calling themselves my parents were not in any way related to me. Turned out that the mysterious language was Japanese and my 'parents' actually were my parents, just not the ones I was used to. There was a small picture that my mother kept at her calligraphy table to prove it, a little painting of me in her arms with my father standing at her shoulder. Still haven't quite figured out why I don't look like my old self—maybe it's only Rukon-born souls who look like their past selves? Something else to research. In any event, Mom—Makoto—replaced it with another small portrait that year, right when I was starting to get enough experience of the world to figure out where I was.

Now there's a cute little picture of me kneeling by my mom's bedside, my father's hand on my shoulder. It's obvious from the way I'm staring fixedly at the painter that I'm trying hard not to look at my mom and the little bundle in her arms.

The picture frame bore all our names on it, inscribed into the blond wood in delicate, rose-colored kanji. First came Dad, of course, "Hirako Kenji." Then there was Mom, "Hirako Makoto." I came third, as the eldest child, girl or not, "Hirako Nariko." The last name was the reason little me was avoiding looking at my new sibling. "Hirako Shinji" was the last name written on that frame.

Hirako Shinji. I'm the elder sister of _Hirako Shinji_. All but twins in this long-lived society, really. But I keep him in his place.

Before he was born, when I'd just seen my first Shinigami and realized what had happened to me, I'd been thinking that I could finally live a life I'd fantasized about for years. Becoming a Shinigami with the prestige, power, and adventures that entailed? Hell yeah I wanted that. In my old life I'd been a horrible combination of decisive and wishy-washy, quickly settling on the decision that would benefit the most number of people and probably leave me in the lurch. Here, where no one expected that of me—every Hirako I knew was outgoing, a prank-player, and terrible at being anything they weren't—I could finally do what I wanted. The clan was well-off enough that I probably wouldn't hurt the family too much if I screwed up, too.

Now? To hell with that. I was right back to my old self. Could I help with this, could I fix that, could I get to this person in time to make sure they don't backstab that person, on and on. Stupid altruism. At least the culture here rewarded honor, not that they'd ever know that I was saving the world. Even in my head 'saving the world' sounded funny. Trying to get a couple less people killed was a lot more accurate.

But as it stood right now, I was a full eighteen. I say or so because time gets a little wonky when you're not operating by the calendar you're used to and the lack of milestones you're used to. Regardless of my age, I was still waiting to be old enough to put my changes into place. Aging was slower here. Physically I was... well, I've run into the same problem that the fandom did with Rukia's age. Late adolescence was really the best way to describe my age. I've got the apparently hereditary Hirako teeth—so much for the braces of my last incarnation—and the same angular face as Shinji. Like him, most of my height was in my legs—hallelujah—but unlike him, I had ash-blond hair instead of sunny gold. if it wasn't for that, my height, and my hazel eyes, I could be mistaken for his twin instead of his older sister. I was losing the height advantage year by year, but I handled that well when I was where I belonged and I would handle it well now.

I hoped I would, anyway. It'd long been a running joke that I was the Hirako with the shortest fuse. Anywhere else I'd be considered patient; here I'm considered hard to handle because I don't plot my enemies' downfall and laugh when my plans come to fruition. The Hirako clan was creepy. No wonder they produced Shinji.

"Narin! Narin, hide me!" Speak of the devil. Shinji came pelting down the veranda, blond ponytail flying behind him and ink splattered all over his hands, sleeves, and face. I didn't even want to know how he got it on his face. Chicken-scratch handwriting or no, you don't see me with ink on my face.

I had about a second to consider whether I really wanted to aid my brother. On the one hand, he'd called me by that cutesy nickname he made up when he was the equivalent of three, and if I didn't let myself skimp on the tutoring sessions, he shouldn't get to either. On the other hand, _Shinji_. I needed him to be close to me for when everything came apart at the seams, and it was damn near impossible to argue with his enthusiasm. I wanted to preserve a little of that before he got completely jaded.

I settled for tossing my scroll aside and grabbing him by the collar, heaving him off the veranda and hurriedly stuffing him into the crawl space. Shinji had just enough sense to shut up and mute his spirit power, while I tried to focus on projecting my presence outwards. Now, I didn't know anything about making use of my reiryoku, being a girl child expected to marry some nice young man whose clan was under the Shihouin like mine and become a spymaster. I did, however, know a good deal about the phenomenon known as the Bavarian Fire Drill: act like you're authorized to do something and seven times out of eight people will go with it. I stuck out my chest, collected my scroll as if nothing had happened, and put a serene smile on my face for Shinji's tutor.

Ise Kenichi, as he came around the corner, looked as harried as ever. Smoke-tinted glasses were slipping down his nose, sooty black hair coming out of its plait. His green tea-colored kimono was the only thing that wasn't rumpled, though it was splashed with ink. His aunt Asami was my tutor, and even though she had so many of my questions to deal with, there was no question that Asami had the easier job.

"Good afternoon, Ise-san," I greeted him, smiling innocently. My features in this life weren't as easy to shape into such an expression, but I managed. "I didn't realize there was a branch of calligraphy that involved writing on yourself. Will Asami-sensei teach me that someday?"

"It's an afternoon, Nariko-dono, but I don't know about the good part," he said wearily, ignoring my joke. "Where is your younger brother?"

I shrugged. Outright lying I couldn't bring myself to do, especially not to a man just trying to do his job, but bending the truth was a little easier. "I'm not exactly sure of that myself," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck as though sheepish. It was technically true, given that he could've wiggled deeper into the crawl space and wasn't where I'd put him. "Did you check the kitchens?"

Kenichi heaved a sigh. "I've checked half the clan grounds by now."

"Then check the other half!" I chirped, smile honey-sweet. Oh, Shinji had better be _very_ grateful for this. "He'll turn up somewhere comfy, that slacker."

It might've been my imagination, but I could've sworn I heard a muffled squeak of indignation from the floorboards.

"I hope so." Kenichi frowned, swiping ineffectually at the ink staining the back of his hand. Poor guy looked like he could use a drink, like most adults who had to deal with Shinji. "First he wouldn't stop trying to sleep through his lesson on court etiquette, now he's run off... I don't get paid enough for this." A second later his hand flew to his mouth, drew away with a few inky fingerprints left behind. "I'm sorry, Nariko-dono, I didn't mean anything by it."

I tried to make less trouble than my brother, more or less successfully, but I couldn't resist meddling. "It's fine, Ise-san. Shinji's a handful for me too. You know, I know where he likes to hide better than you. If you want, I could look for him and you could get cleaned up. I bet Masami would know how to get the ink out of your clothes," I said, referring to the pretty kitchen maid the whole estate knew Kenichi was crushing on.

He didn't even try to look hesitant. "You'd tell your parents I wasn't neglecting my duties?" Kenichi asked, worn features smoothing with relief. He was way too young to look so old. "I mean, it's not exactly right for me to be teaching Shinji-dono in such attire, but still."

 _Perfect._ "Of course," I said with the brightest smile I could manage. If it was a slightly smug smile, well, I couldn't help that. Most smiles looked smug with Hirako features. "I'll tell them for you."

Kenichi fled at top speed. Shinji must have been even more of a handful than usual if he was that eager to get away.

"Alright, what did you do this time?" I snapped as soon as Kenichi was out of earshot. Shinji squirmed out from under the veranda, more than slightly dirty.

"Aww, Nari-nee, why'd ya have ta throw me like that? At least give me a little warnin'! Ya never do that in trainin'!" He whined. One thing that I had grown used to but still hated was the tendency for every one of my relatives to use thick Osaka-ben instead of Tokyo-ben. How the main dialects in Soul Society were identical to real-world Japanese dialects was yet another thing that puzzled me, but it's possible some souls brought it with them and Soul Society has never been big on change. I'd made a conscious choice to use Tokyo-ben the second I learned it.

"Like training could motivate me," I retorted. Unless I psyched myself up beforehand when Dad was training us in the clan Hakuda style, I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. It wasn't that I was scared—I had been at first, knowing who Shinji was going to become—but that I had only two modes, beat-the-shit-out-of-them and "I don't want to hurt anyone!" To get out of the latter, I had to throw my old life's morals out the window and remember that my opponent was equally skilled and probably wouldn't get the shit beat out of him. Or get surprised, but that wasn't likely in training. Shinji teased me for being a wimp a lot, but it wasn't exactly easy to adapt to a different standard of femininity. Here even the most refined women were expected to know how to wield a naginata and a tantou to deadly effect. "Stupid Shinji. I'm not going to just haul off when Dad's standing right there."

"Ooh, you're so tough, holding back and everything. Spare me your true skill, Nariko-sama," he mocked with a mighty roll of his narrow eyes that would've given me a headache. I whacked him upside the head for it, scowling.

"Ugh, I don't know why I bother sometimes. Why you get to be the heir when I'm the only responsible one here is beyond me," I scoffed, tugging at my collar for some relief from the heat. That had surprised me, too—turned out the reason canon-Shinji had been so protective and good at getting things done despite his silliness was training practically from birth for the responsibility of leading his clan. He was still an ass, though.

"Because I'm awesome and you're a stuffy know-it-all dame?" He said, dancing out of reach when I tried to jab him in the ribs. "Kidding, kidding! But I did hear Dad saying that he's gonna get ya an apprenticeship with one of the Shihouin ladies." At my brief look of horror—what if I replaced Sui-Feng? she'd be a cruel bitch, but not bodyguarding Yoruichi would get her exiled—he corrected himself hastily. "Not Yoruichi-sama, stupid, one of her cousins, Miyako. The one who heads the intel division, I think. Damn if ya ain't luckier than a cricket, Nari-nee. I gotta go off ta stupid Shin'ou and you get a cushy position under Seireitei's spymaster, with connections and gossip and everything."

I stopped fiddling with my clothes to stare at him. "Say that again."

"I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean that you're just gonna get ta laze around all day hearin' juicy gossip—you totally are, though," Shinji blurted. He tilted his head at me, birdlike, when I didn't hit him. "What, ya don't wanna take a swing at me?"

For the record, I don't knock the stupid out of Shinji that much. Just when he really needs it.

"No, the bit about where I'm going and where you're going," I said, folding my arms.

"I'm going to dumb Shin'ou and you're gonna work under a Shihouin princess?" Shinji said, blinking at me like I'd gone crazy. To be fair, I carried scrolls with me everywhere for the express purpose of learning everything that the manga hadn't explored. If anyone would enjoy being an apprentice spymaster, it was me. I just wanted Shin'ou way more.

"Thanks for telling me, moron!" I snapped at last, biting down hard on the curses filling my head. "When is this happening?"

Shinji shrugged, stuffing his hands into the opposite arm's sleeve. It was weird to not see him stuff his hands into his pockets. Awful circumstances or not, I was probably going to be relieved when Shinji got thrown out and had to switch to human clothes. "I dunno. Prob'ly when the next term at Shin'ou starts, just ta make things easier with packing."

I ran through a couple quick calculations in my head, trying to figure out how much time I had until then. Two weeks, maybe? The cursing in my head had stopped, but only because I didn't know which one was foulest. Some part of me had thought this time of games and sunshine would go on forever, just because I didn't know exactly how much time I had until canon rolled around. I might have enough time to work out a plan and put it into action— _damn_ my habit of winging it in important situations—or I might get caught flat-footed. The trouble was that I couldn't be sure whether dates here matched up to living world dates. Calendars changed, and different cultures screwed things up even more. I had only events to judge my relative position in time by, and none of those had happened yet. "Shinji?" I said absently, twirling my scroll around my fingers. "Hide all my scrolls and books—no, just the fun ones. If you catch me sleeping in, or lazing around, sneak-attack me. I'm going to be busy."

Shinji's eyes were narrow. The fact that his mouth had stopped moving was enough to tell me that he wasn't working out mischief. Good tacticians like Shinji weren't trained—you needed a certain aptitude, the kind Shinji had in spades. So even at this age I knew that my brother was trying to work out what I knew that he didn't, what would motivate me to invite trouble for myself. Finally his smile flickered back into place. "Sure thing. Ya don't need ta tell me twice to prank ya, Narin."

My hand shot out before he could pull his hand away, grabbing his fingers and squeezing. "Shinji?" I said, even sweeter than I had been with Kenichi. "It's Nariko. Don't you forget it."

"O-ow! Stop it, Narin!" He yelped, trying to jerk away.

I left him massaging his fingers and wiping away tears. I didn't have time for stupid nicknames.

There were plans to make, lessons to learn, and people to persuade.

* * *

"Dad, I need to talk to you about my education."

"Mmm?" Kenji said absently as he looked through a report on sake production. To my mixed amusement and chagrin, I had been educated on the fine points of sake as part of our family business since I was a small child. For instance, I knew that today was a hot day with no company expected, suitable for chilled nigori-zake. "What about it? The Shihouin who's gonna take you under her wing is one of Seireitei's movers and shakers, y'know."

I bit my lip and tried again. "Dad, I'm not sure about my apprenticeship."

He didn't even glance up. "I know it's a big step towards becoming an adult, Nariko, but ya can't just expect ta be a little girl forever."

I frowned sharply, scuffing my sandals on the floor. Unsurprisingly, paper rustled beneath my feet. Never let it be said that any Hirako is organized. "I don't think I'm comfortable with being apprenticed to Shihouin Miyako."

Now he spared a puzzled glance for me. "What's gotten into you, Nariko? It's gonna be a tough job, but ya can't possibly be thinkin' that I'm gonna make you do anythin' I didn't think you could handle. You'll know the secrets of all Seireitei!"

It was an incredibly tempting possibility. I would have access to what amounted to libraries' worth of knowledge, know what everybody wanted to hide, and be able to air their dirty laundry at will. Problem was that that wouldn't help me with Aizen. I couldn't plan an essay given a prompt, let alone come up with a plan to stop a man second only to Urahara from the few facts his Zanpakutou couldn't cover up.

Sorry, Dad. Screw filial piety, I've got a duty to the world too.

"Dad. I'm not scared of an apprenticeship. I want to go to Shin'ou with Shinji," I said, sticking out my chin and folding my arms tight across my chest. That gesture was my trump card, the one that said that only the Soul King himself could change my decision. Internally, I cringed. What if he said no? I didn't like defying authority. Following the rules, doing what I was told, those made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Going against the order of things did the exact opposite.

Kenji stared. Gulped as he saw the posture I'd taken, back so straight it was practically anathema to the ever-slouching Hirako. The quivering feeling inside me subsided as I watched the gears in his brain turn. Maybe I was better at this whole backbone thing than I thought.

"Nariko..." He began, then stopped and hesitated. If he was going to say that I had somehow been born without reiryoku, I was going to hurt someone. I hadn't been put in this situation for nothing, dammit! "I just ain't sure that Shin'ou's the right path for ya to walk. Shinji, he's strong. Stronger maybe than any other Shinigami this clan's ever seen. You're..."

Fire crept through my body with every word my father spoke. If I opened my mouth, I was sure, I would incinerate him. _Son of a bitch. I'm not weak, not worthless, not pathetic just because Shinji's exceptional!_ I shoved back at the fire with cold fury. My sight had gone hot and blurry. _Stupid tears!_ "I'm what?" I said, fighting the tremble in my words. From the second I'd been old enough to understand the people around me, I'd been bombarded with praise for the Shinigami. It wasn't that you were less-than if you weren't one, but you were expected to aspire to be one. And why wouldn't you? Even the lowliest Shinigami stood above a civilian, they had powers and education and a guaranteed place in Seireitei. I couldn't not be one! "I'm not as strong as Shinji, is that it?"

So well-intentioned it made my teeth clench, Kenji rose and approached me, clearly wanting to give me a comforting hug. I didn't want a hug. I wanted an Academy uniform! "Sweetheart, yer mom and I always thought you'd be better off away from all that. We didn't want ya ta feel... inadequate compared to your brother. An apprenticeship to Miyako-dono would really be th' best for ya." He opened his arms, stepped in for a hug.

I knocked his arms away before they could close around me. "I-I knew that," I hissed between my teeth. "I know Shinji is stronger than me, but you can't just say no because he's better. Not every Shinigami is a captain. Do you think they shouldn't have enlisted too?" I stopped and took a breath, throat tight and painful with rage. "And so what if he's got more reiryoku? I'm more responsible, harder-working, more disciplined than he is. Maybe it's Shinji who shouldn't be heading off to Shin'ou! Give _him_ to Miyako-sama. I bet he'll do great knowing everybody's business; it's hardly different from here." I jabbed a thumb at my chest. "I am not inadequate!"

Dad's jaw dropped. He sputtered for a few seconds, a few shades paler than when I'd begun. Running joke that I had a short fuse or not, I didn't think he had ever seen me really, truly angry. Something twinged inside me. I'd be so relieved when I could stop using anger to get my way. "Nariko... ya really feel this way. And I don't got a prayer of changin' your mind?"

Every part of me wanted to say that he could change my mind, to agree and keep myself safe, except for the part that knew what was going to happen and couldn't stand by and let it happen. "Not a prayer, Dad. Even if I'm the most pathetic Shinigami Seireitei's ever seen, even if I'm only good at academics, I can still make a difference." And maybe learn some ways to declare my resolve that weren't completely cheesy. All the canon Shinigami seemed to have had that sort of thing mastered. "Shin'o still needs teachers, right?" My smile was so shaky that I let Dad give me a hug this time, sniffling and trying to surreptitiously wipe my nose on his kimono.

"The world can always use teachers," he agreed. We stood there in silence for a while, my head against his chest, until he broke the silence. "I'll talk to Makoto about it. But I don't think she'll disagree if'n you're really that set against goin' with Miyako-dono."

I hugged him as tightly as I could. _Yes, yes, yes!_ "Thanks, Dad. I promise I'll make you proud."

When I left, my heart had never felt so big, and I'd never felt so small.

* * *

Shinji had made good on his promise to keep me from being lazy so far. I almost wished that what I was doing now counted as being lazy. I didn't _want_ to make plans. They required so much paper that I could barely carry it all and the writing made my hand cramp up.

But here I sat, carefully writing down every factor I could think of that needed to be taken into consideration for my plans to work.

First in my mind was how strong I needed to be and how fast. Kenji said I wasn't as strong as Shinji, but if I understood how Zanpakutou worked properly, that wouldn't have an impact on the speed of my progress in that area. Zanpakutou took shape as their wielder learned who they were and impressed that on an asauchi; I'd always been very sure of who I was and probably wouldn't have loads of trouble in that area. Bankai was another story—reiryoku levels determined whether you could even achieve it and even if I did it would take time to master. Time I might not have. And yeah, I could use Urahara and Ichigo's method, but I wasn't very keen on dying and I was pretty sure I didn't have the plot armor necessary for that.

No, I'd focus on getting Shikai as quickly as I could and mastering that. After that I'd see if my Zanpakutou spirit thought I should have Bankai. And damn if that wasn't weird, to think of a sentient being inhabiting an inner world inside my soul. Shouldn't Zanpakutou have more rights? I'd ask mine when I discovered it.

Hakuda and Houhou seemed like areas I could handle. Hakuda would be an interesting prospect, with lots of clan styles and the Academy style to draw on. It'd probably up my strength. Houhou was necessary, if not my forte. I'd always been a slow walker in life, better with short sprints than with long-distance running and even then not all that great. That was precisely why I'd need to learn it, of course.

Kidou... I wasn't sure about Kidou. From my research in the clan libraries, I knew the words, hand seals, and drawings were focuses, designed to help coordinate manipulation of one's own reiryoku. Rote memorization was something I excelled at, but the bit about using one's own reiryoku was the catch. Kenji'd implied that I wasn't all that strong, so I probably wouldn't be able to perform the high-level spells. Unless... if there was a way to store reiryoku, I could use that, but I'd save that project for later, like I'd have to save the many theories I had about just how Kidou worked. Apparently it paid off to have written fanfiction in my spare time; I'd put a good deal of time into considering the mechanics for my plots' sake.

Second was what to do about Aizen. Soul aging was so strange that I couldn't pinpoint his age relative to Shinji and me, meaning I didn't know if he'd be a classmate, an instructor, or already a Shinigami. If he was a classmate, I'd have to take the time to learn everything I could about him, maybe even try to befriend him, if his plots could be averted, but I wasn't banking on that. If he was an instructor, I'd work to be one of his best students, both in the subject area and in philosophy—Aizen had seemed awfully bent on that. Teachers had an influence on students, but that could go both ways if the student played it right. If he was already a Shinigami, I was completely out of luck. By then he'd be set in his ways, already planning to replace Seireitei's paving with Legos or some evil shit like that.

Third was what to do about the creation of the Visoreds. On the one hand, they'd lost everything when Aizen experimented on them—careers, homes, families, dignity, even the sanctity of their own minds. And Shinji was my _brother._ I couldn't let him be hurt like that.

But I had to. The Visoreds had to train Ichigo and had to help out at the Fake Karakura Town battle. Hachi had taken out the Espada nobody else had been able to kill, and I really didn't like our chances against Barragan without his boosted power. And Ichigo might not even be born if Urahara didn't know how to stop Soul Suicide from his work with the Visoreds. I didn't have to like my choice, but I would have to make it. Shinji and the others would be Hollowfied.

 _Wait._ The letter I'd been in the middle of writing—I didn't want anyone being able to read it, so English instead of Japanese it was—turned into an unrecognizable blot as I stopped mid-stroke.

I could save one of them. None of the captains, since that would require power I didn't have, but there was a small chance for one of the lieutenants. I'd always gotten the impression that Hiyori was insecure about her position because she'd been relatively new to it, and because she didn't like change—her behavior with Urahara had shown that. Mashiro was a maybe, with her ditzy persona making it hard to tell how experienced she was. Lisa had seemed too much a part of the Eighth to have been new, although she was rather adaptable. I marked her down as a 'probably not.' I didn't know enough of the Kidou Corps to say that I could take Hachi's place, and didn't want to. Kindly manner or no, Tessai was scary, and my reiryoku reserves weren't that great.

Should I save Hiyori if I could? She and Shinji had clearly been friends, if hostile towards each other. It was hard to say whether that was the result of surviving trauma and being thrown into exile or not, though. They hadn't come across as very friendly in the Turn Back the Pendulum gaiden, that was for sure. But nearly losing her in the Fake Karakura Town battle had gotten Shinji the angriest I'd ever seen him. That had to count for something. On the other hand, I was his sister, had grown up with him as far as he knew. If I took Hiyori's place, I'd likely garner the same reactions from him.

It was bad of me to think, but I had the feeling I'd be more competent than Hiyori. Unlike her, I had some inclination for science and plenty of curiosity where I lacked exceptional talent. Even cooking I enjoyed, and I'd read somewhere that cleaning was an important part of military life. I'd learn to like it whether I wanted to or not. And there were the feelings of Hiyori to consider. She'd already lost Hikifune. Could she stand to lose Urahara and Shinji? Hiyori was tough as nails and strong for a 4' 4" blond pipsqueak, but she screamed 'trust issues.' On the other hand, having your soul invaded by a cannibalistic, murderous monster? I wouldn't trust _myself_ after that, let alone the people technically responsible for my transformation. And judging from the way she'd behaved ever since her first appearance in the manga, Hiyori's trust issues hadn't faded—she'd hated humans and Shinigami, picked a fight with Hitsugaya for no good reason, and apparently lacked so much confidence in her allies that she'd gone right for Aizen.

Yeah, maybe it was better for everyone involved if I took Hiyori's place. I finished that scroll, then stopped, biting my lip. If I took Hiyori's place, there was a good chance I'd suffer her fate. To feel that sort of pain, to fight a warped version of myself, to be rejected and ripped away from the only home I had after already losing my whole world—could I do it? If even one of my theories about what they'd gone through were correct, being a Visored was no picnic, and despite my determination, despite all the virtues I'd named to my father, I wasn't nearly as strong as the Visoreds. Not mentally, not physically, not spiritually.

I tossed my scroll and brush away with a hiss of frustration, rose to pace. _Still weak, still pathetic, still worthless!_ I berated myself, trying to get at the resolve I'd only ever known to manifest in me when I was angry. It failed, the warm strength of pleasure that had been coursing through me at finding ways to protect people growing a little colder. _What did you think would happen when you were born in a world where the military is everything? When you_ knew _war was coming? You chose Shin'ou to grow strong and protect everyone! You can't back out because you're too damn scared of pain and what people think of you!_

But I could. All I had to do was tell Dad that I'd rethought my plans and I could get a nice, comfortable life for myself. Safe and engaging, so suited for me that my own father had chosen it. And I was scared of pain and rejection, no matter how much I pretended otherwise. People hating me, calling me a heartless demon and an abomination, confirming everything I knew I'd come to think about myself when Aizen had finished with me... I didn't know if I could withstand that. I didn't know if I could withstand the pain of having my soul torn in two.

"Nari-nee?" I whirled as Shinji's voice came from behind me. He stood in the door of the library, blinking first at my writing materials and then at me. "Are you okay? I felt your reiatsu..."

My heart twisted. I couldn't withstand Hollowfication, not by myself, not for myself. But with my brother, with the others? For them and for everyone else who would need me to fight? Yes. I could do that. I had to. "Am I ever okay?" I said lightly, trying to brush off my agitation. "Don't worry about it, Shin. Just some stupid teenage girl stuff."

He smirked. "Aww, Nari-nee's already got herself a beau? Hope ya've already told him that I won't be takin' kindly to anybody who messes with my sister. An' that you won't be takin' kindly to him tryin' either."

I rolled my eyes and held up a fist at him. "I swear, Shinji, you're just asking to get punched!" I snapped. "I don't have a boyfriend! Don't want one either!" Especially since I had more important things on my mind than getting laid, even if Shinji didn't.

Shinji, being Shinji, just raised an eyebrow. "You'd best wait until we get to Shin'ou for that," he said. "I understand they're more forgiving of that sort of thing there."

 _Huh?_ Not knowing how to respond to that, I just looked at him blankly for a second before it came to me in a flash of enlightenment. "Hey! Idiot, don't go jumping to conclusions like that!" Especially since past-me hadn't exactly figured sexuality out either. I really didn't need more internal conflict, not with the incredibly strange Hollow that was bound to produce. "I'm just saying that I'm being stupid and regretting going to Shin'ou a little!"

He frowned, abruptly turning serious and walking towards me. "Why?" Shinji asked. Bless him, he didn't mock my worries. The Hirako were as a rule comfortable with who they were, leading to a clan-wide philosophy of 'figure out your problems, solve the ones you can and recognize the ones you can't, then get on with your life.' It was even in the clan creed: 'See yourself in the flat of the blade, accepting the cruel edge and protective duty.' None that I'd met so far were much good with more deep-seated psychological problems, but at least they didn't make fun of you if you were genuinely troubled.

I hesitated. What was I supposed to say? 'Because I just signed both our death warrants?' 'Because I'm terrified out of my mind by cannibalistic demons, the kind we'll someday turn into?' "Just...thinking," I said finally. "What if I graduate, join a division, and get stuck in a dead-end job? I'll look back and wonder what could've been better if I'd done what Dad wanted originally. I don't want to regret this choice."

"Stupid," Shinji scoffed. "There's no way you'll regret it. We're gonna take Shin'ou on together, right? It'll all turn out fine if you've got me and I've got you. So you'll do fine. Maybe ya ain't the prodigy I am, but ya ain't unseated material either."

"Leave it to you to brag about yourself while you're encouraging me," I said, poking my tongue out at him. Maybe it was wrong of me, but I couldn't help wondering if keeping him humble now would keep him from being caught by surprise by Aizen.

"Somebody has to make sure people don't think this clan is made of hide-in-a-corner crybabies," he retorted. For all the quickness of his tongue, Shinji wasn't quick enough to dodge when I darted forwards and kicked him in the shin.

"Just you wait, Shinji." I grinned, folding my arms and tilting my chin up as faux-arrogantly as I could manage. "I'll make you eat my dust."

 _If we both don't bite the dust..._

I shut that thought out, flapping a hand at him. "Now get out of here. I want to study and you are _not_ on the test."

True to the terms of our agreement, he left me alone. I recovered my brush and scroll, frowning as I looked over my writing. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't think of any factor I'd neglected. There definitely were some—my brain had a nasty habit of thinking it knew everything while knowing nothing—but I couldn't see any just now. Well, I had seven years to think about it before the shit really hit the fan.

Time to get on with actually studying.


	2. Against Every March Storm

It was perhaps the worst summer day of my life when Dad took us to the entrance exams. The humidity was so high I thought that the sweat trickling down my back might've been condensation, and even without that the heat made me feel like a baked potato, with my clothes as the skin. When a breeze occasionally stirred the air, sighs of bliss could be heard from even the most stoic nobles. Me, all I could focus on was that every time I inhaled I smelled salt.

Strangely, however, when we got to Shin'ou the Shinigami proctors weren't sweating at all. As I passed one, I swore I could feel a buzzing sensation around her, like a shell of reiatsu.

 _Note to self: learn how to cool off with Kidou, or whatever these people are using._

I thought I'd gotten a good idea of Shin'ou from the few episodes that had taken place there, but seeing it on my computer screen and actually being there were two wildly different experiences. The hall into which applicants piled alone was easily twice the size of my high school gym, looking rather like a college lecture hall. Its surrounding buildings were even bigger, multi-storied and surrounded—probably containing as well—by courtyards and practice areas. I couldn't see the dormitories from where we were, but they had to be there. A lot of the students around us looked like they didn't have any homes worth going back to, and those who did had trunks. Every piece of architecture I saw was more traditionally Japanese than my own clan's estate.

Considering who had founded Shin'ou, that wasn't surprising. Yamamoto Genryuusai Shigekuni's brain, as one very memorable fanfic had put it, was so rusty that its gears probably couldn't turn in another direction anymore.

"Those of you who brought possessions, raise your hands. Proctors will come around and provide you with as many slips of paper as you require. Ink and brushes will also be provided. Write your legal name, district, and the hiragana for both on the tags," a rat-faced proctor announced. His voice was surprisingly deep for such a slight man.

"Sir?" A boy standing at the back of the crowd called. A thick drawl touched even that one word. Definitely high-district. As people turned to look at him, the boy flushed red. Shaggy black hair touched the shoulders of his ratty yukata, its original color long since faded. In calloused hands he carried a simple sack that bulged with what was probably everything he owned. "What if- what if we d-don't know how to, to write?"

I cringed internally. A painfully shy kid like that, no wonder he'd left his rough district for Shin'ou.

The rat-faced man's gaze was faintly disapproving. "Get one of your classmates to write them for you."

As proctors came around, I nudged Shinji in the side. "Shin, I'm going to go help that kid. Mark my stuff—real name, not one of your dumb nicknames." Before he could stop me, I turned and began to elbow my way through the applicants behind me. As I approached the boy, who apparently didn't have the nerve to ask anyone around him, some part of me wanted to turn back and worry about my own stuff. I needed to go over what I knew, right? I didn't have to help this kid. He'd find help somehow, wouldn't he? I shushed that part of me. There was no reason to be nervous about helping someone out.

"Um, you needed help with a tag?" I stammered when I reached him. The boy had taken a tag, a brush, and a wetted inkstone and was staring at it as if characters would magically appear on the paper.

He glanced up, mild terror crossing his features. "Um, yes? But I don't wanna make m'self a bother, really. I'm sure I'll remember how..." From the way the kid's upper teeth were chomping on his lower lip, I highly doubted that.

I frowned. There was nothing that irritated me more than people who blatantly didn't know something pretending like they did. My mental self was smirking. This sort of thing was my element, bluntness overpowering my shyness when faced with a new acquaintance. "No, you won't. Give me those." I snatched the writing implements and nodded towards the ground. "Sit down. It's way easier for me to write on the ground than on a wall."

He sat, if only out of confusion. I doubted that I could command a gerbil. I dropped down beside him, dipped the tip of the brush in the ink, and held it to the paper. "What's your name, short stuff?" Right up close to him I could see that I was at least three inches taller. Ha! Taller than someone, taller than someone, my thoughts sing-songed.

"Minoru," he said, dropping his head as if ashamed of the fact. "Yes, that's all of it."

"Minoru, gotcha. How d'ya want that written?" I deliberately dropped into Osaka-ben, trying to make him feel more comfortable. Familiar voices always helped me relax, after all.

"Written?" He said, round eyes making it clear that he'd never heard of alternate readings in his life. Right, make things basic.

"Dependin' on context—or just how they're used, some kanji only get certain pronunciations when they're names—kanji can be said different ways," I explained. "If ya choose certain pronunciations you can make puns with them, or slap 'em with readings from another language. There are two different ways to show sounds, depending on whether they're foreign or native. If'n ya want, I can write 'Minoru' just as 'mi-no-ru' in either of those systems. Or I can write whatever kanji ya want and assign 'Minoru' as the reading. Pick carefully," I warned. As a frequent victim of misreading, I was especially conscious of kanji-furigana relationships.

"What kanji usually go with my name?" Minoru asked, staring at the brush with a newfound respect.

"There are a couple that both read fer 'reality' or 'truth,'" I said. "My brother uses a similar kanji in his name. Um, let's see. Ya can sometimes write it as 'bountiful harvest,' but I'd recommend not. No offense, but I don't think ya want to encourage a reputation for bein' a country bumpkin. People here, half of 'em got their nebs so high in the sky ya could mistake 'em for the Soukyoku."

Minoru half-smiled. "I can't talk 'gainst that. How d'ya write yours?"

I grinned. "Hirako Nariko. Th' family name's written as 'flat child,' my personal name's 'hard-workin' child.' Ya could have it as 'humble child,' 'adjusted child,' 'high-climber child,' or my personal favorite, 'thunder child.'"

"Now what've ya done ta get Narin talkin' in Osaka-ben, brat?" My brother's drawl said. In unison Minoru and I looked up to see him standing there, ink on his fingers. "'Cause lemme tell ya, it's all I can do ta get her to use even a word that ain't Tokyo-ben, even if it's just us two."

"Minoru-san," I said before Shinji could insult him further, "meet my brother Shinji. His name's written as 'true child.'"

Minoru blinked rapidly. "You two are twins?"

In unison—not helping my case—we shook our heads. "Nah, Nari-nee's my older sister," Shinji answered. "Hurry up over here, you two. Don't wanna miss the exams, do ya?"

"Kanji?" I said immediately, glancing at Minoru.

"Truth," he replied after a second. "Whichever one's easier ta write. My district's Fugai, West 67th."

"Outside...the...earthwork," I murmured as I printed the kanji as neatly as I was able. There was something vaguely familiar about the word 'fugai,' but I couldn't remember what it was off the top of my head. "Thanks." I stood, handing him the tag. "If ya get the chance, Minoru-san, meet up with Shinji an' me after. We'll show ya the ropes."

"Th-thanks!" He called after us as Shinji and I returned to our own belongings.

"Why'd ya go an' do that, Nariko?" Shinji murmured. "Ya don't even know the kid and now ya want ta take on the obligation of teachin' him everythin' 'bout a world he ain't never seen before?"

"Stop laying it on so thick, moron," I murmured back. "People may not want to understand you, but they need to be able to."

"Answer me, Nariko," he muttered tersely.

"I wanted," I hissed, "to be nice. We grew up here, but he didn't. He'll get himself hurt if we don't teach him how to survive here. I don't care how long it takes or what fun of yours it messes up, we're doing this. We take on Shin'ou together, remember?"

He grumbled, but I knew Shinji wouldn't go back on his word. Tricky he might be, willing to bend the truth and outright lie, but Shinji kept his promises. "Fine. As soon as ya get tired of the Rukon pet, don't come cryin' ta me."

"Dick," I muttered just loud enough for him to hear me.

When everybody had attached tags to their belongings, the proctors came through the crowd again, stamping each person's hand with a number from 1 to 8. They made a point of avoiding giving siblings and same-district people the same number whenever possible. Depending on what number was printed on an applicant's hand, they would take a seat at a designated section.

I took my seat in section 4 numbly, legs moving on their own. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. Did I study enough? What did I even study? What'll be on here? Please tell me this isn't the only part of the exam or I'll fail! I want to go to Miyako!

Two proctors for each section handed out the exam. A couple others went through the rows, quietly asking each person whether they could read. Those who couldn't were led away, but judging from how none of them looked as if their hopes and dreams had been crushed it was probably just an alternative exam they would be taking.

It was... surprisingly less intensive than I'd thought. Many of the questions were basic but important things, like naming the structure and function of the Central 46, the three methods of becoming a captain, describing how district numbers worked, and what the four Shinigami Arts were. My unique circumstances gave me the answers to some, but the years clouded others. Who really cared how many captains had to recommend you to achieve captaincy without a Bankai demonstration? Future captains did, I guess. A lot were logic questions, things like 'What do you do if someone swings their sword at you?' I wrote down that I would step away if able, or block with my own Zanpakutou if my reiryoku was strong enough. Those were to weed out the idiots who fancied themselves world-conquering heroes, or at least identify them. There were a few that I had to admire for the subtlety with which they questioned an applicant's morality. 'If you had an injured comrade and were under attack by Hollows, what would you do?' and 'How do you aim to change Soul Society?' I carefully put down 'carry them to safety' for the first and 'increase security in the Rukongai' for the second. No use outing myself as a relative radical this early on.

Some—my favorite because hey, I was a teenage girl—seemed more like personality quizzes than anything else. 'Do you prefer justice or the rules?', 'Describe your approach to problem-solving in a word,' and 'Are brains or brawn more important?' were all questions put to me. I didn't think too much about those—start thinking about who you were and you might never find out, after all.

When the sixty-minute time limit was up, we all were led out of the exam hall. I saw the back of Minoru's head through a gap in the crowd. Relief flooded me in a warm rush. They hadn't been expelled.

We were led into another building this time. The proctors divided us up into various hallways. Minoru and I were in the same hallway, but in the crush of people I couldn't get to him. Most of this portion of the test was waiting. I was lucky enough to be called early on.

A musclebound woman in a sleeveless shihakushou ushered me into a small room, closing both sliding doors behind me. I was uncomfortably reminded that I was completely alone, helpless and at this woman's mercy. Weakweakweakweak- Shut up, you stupid thoughts.

"Hirako Nariko?" She said, examining a scroll.

"Yes, Shinigami-san."

"These are just going to be some questions that we felt couldn't be answered properly on the written portion. If some of your answers on the written portion are called into question, I may call you back later to clarify," she said. "If you need to seek me out for any reason, I'm Mizushima Sayuri, a Shinigami of the Ninth."

"Yes, Mizushima-san."

"Any questions before we begin?" She asked.

You have no idea. "What are you doing to stay cool?" I asked, tilting my head. "I bumped into a proctor and there was this, this shell around her."

Mizushima blinked. "Ah, you noticed that? She must've had an ice affinity; the Academy usually arranges for outside guards who have an easier time cooling off. Unless your Zanpakutou is ice-type too, you'll have to use Kidou for that."

"But what are you doing?" I persisted. "It can't be efficient to maintain a full-body spell like that."

She shook her head. "It's not. Me, I prefer a fan. It's right- ah, shi-shoot. Shoot. I must've left it in the exam hall. Well, any questions about the exam?"

I shook my head mutely.

"Then let's begin. What are your ambitions following graduation?"

I barely had to consider my response. "I want to achieve a seated position in either the Third, Ninth, or Twelfth. And to do better than my brother, but that's not likely."

Mizushima smiled when I mentioned the Ninth. "If you really want to join a division where every captain since the beginning of time has been a complete and utter hardass, sure. If you want any sanity at all, look elsewhere." She glanced down at the scroll, brush flicking over the paper as she recorded my reply. "Next question: do you have any extraordinary skills?"

Now I did have to consider my reply. I had a sharp memory, but nothing exceptional. I was good at following routines, but that was normal. I could play two instruments that hadn't made their way here, read and write in a language no one spoke, and knew the future via a manga series aimed at teenage boys. "I can read very quickly and I remember written information well," I said at last.

"Good." She noted that. "Do you have training in manipulation of reiryoku, a Hakuda style other than the Academy style, onmitsu techniques, or any weapon?"

"No, Shifting Moon, cyphers and observation, basic tantoujutsu and some naginatajutsu," I answered. I'd much preferred the naginata to the tantou, the former having amazing range and the latter having too much potential for cutting one's own hand open.

The rest of the questioning went in much the same way. Unlike the written portion, which had been broader, questioning how well you'd do as a Shinigami, this part focused on your aptitude for various Academy courses. Beneath the low table we sat at, I had my fingers crossed that they wouldn't stick me in the Kidou Corps or Onmitsukidou tracks.

At the end, I expected her to send me on my merry way, to my dorm room or some other place like that. Instead, Mizushima produced a glassy sphere, bluish-white in color and about the size of my head. The sphere was vaguely familiar, though considering my circumstances a lot of things were vaguely familiar. She held it out to me. I had the idea that somebody else had done that a while back—forward? A person who had had coarse black hair, a foul temper, and a fondness for explosives-

Shiba Kuukaku. She'd used this thing to get Ichigo and company into Seireitei. Well great. I had to wonder if it was a Shiba invention or if she'd just ripped the Academy tech off and named it after herself. Because seriously, reishuukaku? Yeah, that was real subtle.

I took the globe gingerly, almost afraid that it would burn me. It didn't, but the sphere did have an odd feeling, not like glass as I'd expected, but more like the 'riverbank' stones of a Zen garden by my family's home, smooth, cool, and soothing. Unlike Kuukaku's globe, this one had the kanji for 'Shin'ou' written in black on it.

"You'll find it easier to do this exercise if you press as much skin as possible to its surface," Mizushima advised. "When you've got it as you want it, close your eyes and try to tune out everything but my voice."

I did as she said, trying to make my wrists touch the globe as well. Urahara had put a seal on Aizen to bind his wrists because Shinigami had vents for spirit pressure there, right? Something like that, anyway. I shut my eyes tightly. There's nothing around you, I told myself. No floor beneath, no roof above, no Mizushima. Just...a voice.

"Look inside yourself, to your heart, where your reiryoku comes from," the voice said.

I'd tried to look inwards many times in my life Before, trying to meditate. I hadn't seen anything except what I imagined for purposes of calming myself down. Now, when I tried that again...

Beautiful, was my first thought. A ball of blue-green lightning crackled and fizzed in my core. It wasn't exactly lightning, though—currents like water moved within, in time to my heartbeat, while the light it exuded was like a fiery sun. No wonder I hadn't realized I had this power before. It was so natural, so much a part of me. How did Ichigo and the others resist the temptation to just stare at this power all day? Awed, I began to reach for it, when the voice stopped me.

"Reiryoku is stored within you," it said. "It is potential. Reiatsu is the power in use. Now separately, draw a circle in your mind. Make it as dark and heavy as possible. Funnel as much reiryoku as you can into the circle, until you feel faint."

I drew the circle, made it black and deep like a person's pupils. Then, eagerly, I reached for the lightning, not with some imaginary hand, or by picturing it moving, or anything like that. It was closer to breath control than anything else. An ex-trumpet player, I knew breath control better than I knew Bleach. It was almost easy. The lightning crackled through my veins, down my hands and into the globe. I guided more and more of it along, losing a little along the way but reaching a point eventually where I knew that releasing any more would make my head spin.

"O-open your e-eyes, Hirako-san," the voice croaked. Holding the images of the lightning and circle in my mind, I obediently opened my eyes to find that Mizushima was using the table to support herself, skin pale beneath her tan and visibly sweaty. The room looked weird, like I was seeing it underwater. I blinked to clear my eyes a few times before realizing that the tint the room had taken on was the same color as the lightning. Awesome.

Then something disturbed the strength I could feel pushing out from me. A calm yet insistent presence pushed out against mine, elegant and giving the oddest impression of slow-moving water. A dark olive light hummed into existence around Mizushima, taking on a shape that looked like some kind of heron, which flared its wings out.

"G-good," Mizushima gasped. "Now pull, hah, pull your power back."

I dismissed the image of the circle, being more careful to draw back my power as if taking a deep breath. The world felt oddly lonely when I stopped. I'd had a vague idea of small spirit signatures outside in the corridor and a somewhat larger one in front of me, various 'impressions' radiating from each one. As my power pulled away, so did my sense of the world and my connection to it.

The heron around Mizushima dissipated. As she printed something on the scroll with a shaking hand, the Shinigami took deep breaths. "Class Three, hmm," she murmured.

"What do you mean?" I asked, blinking, then remembered that she was only an unseated officer, or else she would've specified her rank. It wouldn't take much to cause that sort of effect for her; even my reiryoku levels could do it.

"Just a, hah, a categorization," she explained. "It helps us with placement." Mizushima carefully sealed up the scroll, then rose, smiling at me. "All done, Hirako-san. You can go wait with your brother."

"Thank you very much, Mizushima-san," I told her, smiling back and fumbling with the sliding doors before I got them open.

When I stepped out into the corridor, the stares of my future classmates greeted me. A nervous smile flickered onto my face. Knew it, you screwed up, you screwed up, my thoughts taunted. Some day I'd really like to not think of the worst-case scenario first, really I would. The far more likely case was that they were curious about what exactly this portion of the same constituted. A couple weren't apparently, as they'd fallen asleep.

"Ukitake Junko!" Mizushima bellowed. I nearly jumped a foot in the air, scurrying out of the way and casting a glance around for Shinji. He was waiting down the hall, slouched against the wall.

"Bored?" I asked by way of greeting when I reached him.

"No shit," my brother replied, faking a wide yawn. "Your display a minute ago was a nice break, though."

"Huh?" I tilted my head at him.

"Jeez, you're the smartest numbskull I know, Nari-nee," he scoffed. "They don't use sekkiseki here, so of course ya can feel people's reiatsu from those rooms. Betcha ya made a good impression on somma the people hangin' 'round here." Shinji smirked.

"Moron!" I smacked him upside the head. "Don't go teasing me. Let's have an agreement that we're always honest with each other from now on, okay?"

"Sure," Shinji said. "I ain't takin' that back, though. Ya ain't common, Nari-nee."

I jabbed him in the ribs. "Snake in the grass," I snapped. "See if I don't tell you that you're barely above unseated when it's your turn."

He stuck out his tongue at me, but said nothing. We waited until he was called in silence.

Finally someone a couple rooms down was ushered out and the proctor called out, "Hirako Shinji!" My brother flashed a thumbs-up and grin—apparently a timeless gesture in the Bleachverse—and sauntered away.

I was tense the whole time, waiting for the explosion of spirit power I knew he'd produce. But somehow I still wasn't ready when it finally came.

I was just about to go look for a bathroom when the sun hit me full in the eyes. Not literally, but that was how it felt as my whole body froze. Golden spirit power slammed down on me, hot and bright and skin-baking like the summer day that waited outside. Sweat began to pour down my face immediately.

"Dark circle, dark circle, dark circle," I muttered to myself as I scrambled to remember what I'd done with Mizushima. I managed to push out my reiryoku again, exuding it in a field of shaky turquoise. Some of the people around me, shaking and gasping for breath, began to calm a little as I did that. It didn't feel the same this time, less effortless, like doing pushups after I'd already warmed-up.

The sun-energy cut off after a couple seconds. Shinji's proctor must've yelled for him to stop. I made a note to thank whoever the poor guy was.

Or not. The sliding doors slid open and Shinji poked his head out, supporting an unconscious proctor. "Oi! This guy passed out! Somebody make him wake up!"

Another proctor dashed over, holding his hand to the man's head to check for fever and then shaking his head. "It's the effect of your reiatsu," I heard him say distantly. "You must have some good potential." The words sounded casual, but it didn't take a genius to realize that Shinji was damn strong. I'd already known that, but knowing it and experiencing it were two entirely different things. "I'll just mark up the scroll for you then. We'll switch him out, don't worry."

"Wasn't worryin'," Shinji replied, but he made his way back to me nonetheless. From the way his narrow eyes flicked around, I could tell that he noticed the people who scrambled out of his way.

"So how was that, Nari-nee?" Shinji asked. His tone wasn't quite as loud as it would've been if he'd really just been asking. What Shinji really wanted to know were my thoughts on it.

"You're a lot stronger than I am," I answered equally quietly. "Not developed, but... I think if you work hard you could get a seated position."

Shinji grunted in agreement, eyes slits as the cogs of his mind processed this. "Then let's go take a walk around Shin'ou. I'm gettin' real antsy."

Parents weren't allowed on campus, except during certain visiting days. Students, similarly, weren't allowed off campus without written permission from at least three teachers or accompaniment by a Shinigami or teacher. Since technically Shinji and I weren't students yet, we could meet our parents off-campus.

"Shinji! Nariko!" Makoto shrilled as soon as she caught sight of us. "How was it? Did they give ya a checkup? I should've packed food! Nariko, didya keep your brother out of mischief like I done told ya? Shinji, didya keep an eye out for her?"

"Maa, love, I'm sure the proctors kept order," Kenji drawled. "Did the both of ya make us proud?"

"There wasn't a physical, Mom," I answered. "If there was we'd both have been disqualified, legendary Hirako physique and all. Not fair to others."

We all laughed at that. Very few people in the clan were curvy, muscular, or stout—as a rule, the Hirako ran towards being lean at best and scrawny at worst. In our early years Shinji and I had used that build to pass ourselves off as each other to our more distant relatives and visitors to the estate.

"It went fine, I guess." Shinji shrugged. "My proctor at the second part passed out, though."

"Shinji forgot how to hold back and overwhelmed the poor guy with his reiatsu," I added, not particularly eager to share my comparatively average results. They'd end up congratulating me but it was obvious Shinji would still be the shining star. Someday I'd get praise above him and I would earn it.

Mom squealed. "How amazing! I can't wait to tell your uncle Yuji; you know how much Yuuma-kun loves hearin' 'bout Shin'ou." Yuuma was our cousin, fourth in line for leadership of the clan. It had surprised me that Hirako leadership passed only along the line of descent—Dad was the current leader, succeeded by his brother Yuji if he died, but even then Mom would keep her position as head of the household. Shinji was the real heir in all but law, custom dictating that Yuji turn down the offer. I would come after Shinji, as a woman of the current main family. If both of us weren't suitable, Yuuma would inherit.

Oh, damn. I hadn't considered that with Shinji and I both...that without Shinji and I the inheritance would fall to Yuuma. He wouldn't be ready, not in the same way Shinji was. Note to self: train Yuuma. And rope Shinji into it too.

"When do they usually finish grading?" I asked, arms folded loosely across my chest. "We could all get something to eat."

Kenji hummed, shifting from foot to foot. "Hmm, tomorrow morning? They were done near midnight some year way back, but that was a real small class. This year's incoming bunch is big, so I reckon by noon if ya allow for the usual debate."

"Debate?" Shinji asked, my own question right on the heels of his. "They debate?"

"Mhmm," Kenji said, beginning to lead us away from Shin'ou's gates. "Some of the questions are pretty black-and-white, but others are a whole rainbow. So officials argue about them, and about how many errors they can overlook in an applicant. Get denied and your stuff'll be out on the street. Get accepted and they'll hand ya a slip with room number and course list."

The district around Shin'ou was best described by one word: gorgeous. Red-stemmed maples and bronze-leaved cherry blossom trees shaded the walkways. The former would be beautiful come fall, the latter absolutely stunning when spring rolled around. Every house we passed crouched on wooden supports, curving tiled roofs glinting in the sun. Sidewalks were nonexistent on the narrow roads, so bumping shoulders seemed to be an accepted part of city life. I hid a scowl upon realizing that. We didn't live in the sticks by any means, but crowds had driven me half-mad throughout my life. Happy place, happy place, I consoled myself.

"Where're we goin'?" Shinji asked. "Don't ya wanna get somethin' ta nibble on? I know there's a pit in my stomach." My own stomach twisted at that, the same way it did whenever he said something that reminded me in the slightest of his future Hollowfication.

"To the ryokan Makoto and I got a room at," Dad answered. "It'd take too long for us to head back home, so it's best that we bunk here until we get the results."

The ryokan in question was a perfectly traditional place, switch-to-slippers-at-the-door and a garden around the baths inside. A maid showed us to our room with several bows and a request to ask for anything we needed.

Our room was surprisingly cozy, a low table with a few zabuton pillows surrounding it in the center. As we filed in, slippers rasping on the tatami mat floor, Kenji turned to Shinji and me.

"Get on your yukata and we can go wash up before grabbing a bite," he advised. "If no one's too hungry...?"

Shinji and I shook our heads, despite Shinji's complaining not too long ago. Onsen were not to be missed. Mom and Dad changed in a separate room, if you could call a space formed by translucent rice-paper screens a room, talking in low whispers that neither of us cared to eavesdrop on. Shinji and I took a room together.

"Why didn't ya mention how good your results were?" He said quietly as he helped me tie my obi. "There. Now you can get mine."

I obliged, tying a sloppy bow and adjusting it so that it flopped at his right hip. Shinji huffed, undoing the knot and tying a better bow himself. "Why? So they can try to make me feel good when it's clear that you've already done better? For a guy who's usually so good with promises, you aren't doing so well with the one we made, Shin. I'm nothing special, not like you."

I doubled over as a sudden pain bloomed in my stomach. Straightening, I realized that it didn't really hurt that bad. Shinji'd just poked me in the stomach. "What the heck, moron?" I demanded.

"Stop sayin' that, Nariko," he said, every line of his body reading as serious. "Not callin' me a moron," he added so I couldn't pretend to get stuck on that and change the subject. "I mean stop sayin' that ya ain't anythin' special. Everybody in our hall felt your reiatsu, felt your proctor havin' to protect herself from it. Even if ya could barely use a reitama, ya could probably run rings around half the Kuchiki and Shiba and Shihouin there when it comes to book learnin'."

"And what does book learning have to do with being a Shinigami?" I snapped. "We aren't high nobles, Shinji. You're a prodigy; I'm not, so I get normal reiryoku, just good enough to enter, but it's obvious I'm not going the places you're going. Stop trying to make me feel better. I'm not stupid. Sure, I'll get in, but once I'm out it'll be the First, Third, or Fourth for me. Paperwork, art, or the shit nobody else wants to do." If I'd been back in my own skin, I would've clapped my hands over my mouth. My mental mouth was pretty foul, but I didn't like the feeling of being dirty and crude that came with the loss of my filter. Get control, you idiot, I berated myself.

Shinji stepped forwards so fast that I didn't have time to take a matching step back. "Stop. Sayin'. That," he hissed, breath warm on my face. "That ain't the Nari-nee I know. My sister acknowledges when she's good at somethin'. She doesn't just shut up because some stupid test and a bunch of high nobles make her all nervous." His voice dropped low and harsh. "I dunno if it's somethin' Dad said to ya when ya asked about goin' to Shin'ou, or pressure, or just from realizin' that ya ain't at home anymore an' we're gonna have to contend with a bunch of prissy-ass princesses and princelings. Maybe ya ain't gonna be a captain, but there's no way in hell that you'll be anythin' below Fourth Seat."

"Shut your damn mouth," I hissed back. Didn't he get that anything that wasn't a captain was helpless? That I was no Ikkaku or Yumichika to hold Third or Fifth and still be able to contend with Espada? I'd hoped that I'd be stronger, out of desperate fear for the future. If I wasn't strong enough I couldn't replace Hiyori and she'd be hurt and Shinji'd be hurt and I'd be left behind unimportant and alone and I couldn't let that happen didn't he see? "Maybe you've got the most in this family, but you are not the authority on reiryoku here."

"And you are?" He replied.

"No. I just trust our father to tell me the truth about my own power!" I growled. "Let's go to the onsen." I tried to shove past him, but Shinji planted himself in my path.

"How the hell would he know?" Shinji snapped. "How would anyone know, when ya keep everythin' in close and skulk around like you're tryin' to not be a bother, doin' your own thing? Only reason I can sense ya clearly right now is 'cause you're pissed at me."

I stared at him for a long second, scouring his face for any sign that he was teasing, for even a hint of pity. There was none.

"S-Shinji," I stammered, rage draining from me. "If I ever find out that you just lied to me, I will cut out each of your ribs one by one. Then I'll cut off the tip of your nose, and your earlobes, and your lips and eyelids too. Then I'll peel off your skin bit by bit, coat you in salt, and draw and quarter you."

Shinji smirked, and breathing that I hadn't even realized had become difficult became easier. Accidentally employing his reiryoku? I wondered. And then I did the same thing...huh. Powers here are even more personality-based than I thought. "Gee, that doesn't sound real pleasant. I'll try to keep ya convinced of my honesty, then," he drawled.

"Shinji? Nariko?" Mom said from beyond the sliding door. She sounded a little breathless. "Ya finished pickin' whatever bone's between ya two?"

We flushed in unison. I slid open the door, smiling sheepishly. "Did you catch all of that?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Too busy tryin' to stop my ears from ringin' with all the reiatsu movin' 'round in there," she said dryly. "Don't worry, ya kept it down enough that the trace sekkiseki didn't get overloaded." Mom tapped a wall, which now that I looked at it did have a few white flecks embedded in the wood. Probably to keep the whole ryokan from feeling it when couples stayed the night.

The onsen was heaven when we finally made it in. Ignoring the bit where you had to strip with complete strangers around and shower before getting in, the hot water soothed away stress and muscle pains perfectly. I found myself nearly falling asleep, but Mom shook me awake before I could accidentally drown. That would have been a rather embarrassing way to meet my end before even getting my plans underway.

Finally, when we were all clean, Mom and Dad produced kimono for us to wear out for a bite. Shinji's was a burnt orange that I rather envied, a scene of swordsmen dueling at sunset adorning it. I noted absently that standards for men's clothing seemed to be less subdued than in real-life Japan—maybe because Shinigami were so common and wore dark clothing as a uniform? Mine was a salmon-colored number, a saffron-yellow design of wisteria catching the light nicely. We both wore sandy-brown half-width obi, although mine was tied in the butterfly knot and his was in a clam's mouth knot. Mom wore a dusty pink kimono with a simple design of cranes, while Dad wore a muted gold kimono. Even though none of our kimono were especially formal, I couldn't help but see that they all had at least one of our clan colors: pink, gold, and brown.

 _Wonder if it was Mom or Dad who wanted to advertise which clan we were from?_ I thought wryly as we stepped out onto the street, heading for the nearest food market. As evening drew closer, the scent of cooking food grew stronger and stronger on the breeze. Mmmm. Even Aizen couldn't make me hate food.

We settled on dining kawayuka-style, eating on a platform built over a small river. Obanzai ryori was the chosen meal tonight, a series of small, simple dishes. The woman owning the restaurant, clearly well into her cups judging from the blush on her face, waved away our money when we attempted to pay.

"It'sh on the house! Don't be stupid, heh! Think of it as encour-encour- reashon for you to vishit later!" She giggled. "I'll even throw in a bottle of sake!"

So it was that Shinji and I had our first taste of alcohol. It was nothing special, just a local sake that had been heated so we couldn't taste how bad it was. Shinji and I drank a small bowl each. The owner didn't notice when we left with the sake bottle, dumping it into the bushes when we were out of sight. Nobody needed to have that brew inflicted on them.

When we finally settled back into the ryokan, maids had put out our futons out while we were gone. After much lazing-around—who knew one could procrastinate going to bed?—we all slipped into yukata to sleep in.

Sleep was delicious.


	3. Only To Wither

Morning hit me like a sledgehammer. Mom practically rolled Shinji and me off our futons, nagging us into getting dressed at light speed. Blearily I stumbled through my morning routine, having to tie today's kimono's obi twice before I could remember that no, tying my shoes wasn't the same method. It took effort to get my geta on the right feet, and Mom had to help me comb my hair when I tried to do it with the teeth pointing the wrong way.

Looked like the body was the plaything of the soul. I'd been a night owl in my last incarnation and had somehow missed my clan's tendency to greet the day with a grin.

"Hey, Shinji," I muttered as we were ushered through the streets to Shin'ou, "you think we can hear our Zanpakutou this early? 'Cause I'm pretty sure that every part of me's saying to go back to sleep."

"It ain't early, stupid," he answered. "It's almost eleven. By the time we finish breakfast it'll be time."

Breakfast was refreshingly plain, a large bowl of rice porridge and a slightly smaller bowl of miso soup with some dried mackerel. The fishy taste got my brain to start working a little better, as did the walking. By the time we got to Shin'ou, I was capable of forming sentences that did not convey my desire to kill the sun.

The courtyard we were all ushered into was packed to the gills with people. Some people had had a much rougher night than us, judging from their rumpled looks. Others clearly had never bothered to go to sleep, as they reeked of sake. Family was allowed on campus today, so I got to listen to my parents' excited whispering as we joined the crowd.

"Advanced classes for Shinji, d'ya reckon?" My mom whispered. "And standard for Nariko?"

"Mm," my dad replied, too busy staring at the platform where teachers were gathering to really listen. A bald, bronze-skinned man walked up to the podium. The instant he raised up a scroll, a hush descended over the crowd.

"Abe, Sakurako. Abe, Ichigo. Abe, Kuukaku..."

I barely heard the rest of the names. Instead I tried to 'listen' to the rest of the crowd, to feel their reiatsu as it increased and decreased with joy and dismay depending on whose name was called or wasn't.

"Fugai, Minoru." When I heard Minoru's name, I couldn't help the startled, happy whoop I let out. He'd made it! I nearly hugged Shinji before realizing that I was the only one cheering. I dropped my eyes to the ground, heat flooding my face.

"Hayashi, Junko. Hayashi, Masayuki." Now we were reaching the H-names. I clenched my jaw, crossed all my fingers and toes, and sent up a few prayers to a God I wasn't exactly sure existed in this world. Please let me have made it! "Hidaka, Tatsuo. Hidaka, Saburo. Hidaka, Kohaku. Hirako, Nariko. Hirako, Shinji."

I didn't hear anything at all after that. Not my parents hugging me and laughing and praising every kami they knew. Not the applause from the crowd, and certainly not the other names read off.

I made it. All I could hear was my own heartbeat and those words. I made it. I just signed my own death warrant and gave myself the best life at the same time. I made it madeitmademadeitmadeit! Shinji's reiatsu washed over me, a plume of sunlight before he dialed it back. Slowly, tentatively, I let my hold on my reiryoku slip a little. Today was my day. No holding back. The crackling, wind-rain-waves-storm feeling of my reiryoku moving through my veins filled me. A smile so huge it hurt seized my features and I couldn't make it go away even if I wanted to. I was worth something. I wasn't weak, or pathetic, or anything like that.

When all the names had finally been read out, we hurried over to the placement list. Mom and Dad made use of Hirako obstinacy to elbow their way through, dragging Shinji and me along behind them. I held my breath, hoping beyond hope.

Beneath the list of 'Advanced' students for the 'Gotei Track' board, both Shinji's and my names were listed.

I should've been happy. And I was, somewhere deep within. But the first emotion that rode me was anger. I whirled to look my mom right in the eye and snapped, "There. See there, according to that list I am just as good as Shinji. Better." I pointed to my score, listed by my name. It was a full thirty points higher than Shinji's. "So don't talk about Shinji, Shinji, Shinji all the time. I did well too."

I stomped off, heading for the proctors handing out room assignments and course lists. I'd look over the courses later. For now I just wanted to get rid of the rage headache pounding in my head and maybe take the chance to be loud for a bit, celebrating with whoever I roomed with.

I was to live in the East Sode Boshi dorms, second floor and eighth room down on the left. I pushed my way through the gaggle of girls and found myself at a plain door, black-lacquered with the stylized kanji for eight on it in red. My home for the next seven years, I guessed.

I slid open the door expecting to find my belongings dumped by my futon. Instead, I was startled to find a tall ash-haired girl arranging my belongings into a neat pile. Hers were already unpacked, judging from the empty trunk and couple empty bags lying by the other bed. She turned when the door slid open, lips twitching into a small smile.

"Oh! I thought you'd get here just a little bit later than this, sorry," she said by way of greeting, straightening. "I'm Fujikage Shinju. Nice to meet you?" She said it like she didn't know whether I was a very nice person to meet or not.

"Hirako Nariko," I introduced myself. Well, of all the people to get as a roommate, it was nice to have a Fujikage. They were a Kuchiki-aligned minor noble family in Hokutan who stayed out of most politics, preferring to run a few farms and a couple textile businesses. "Did you organize my stuff?"

"I didn't have much else to do," she admitted, brushing her sheet of grey hair away from her face. "Um, if you want I could help you unpack. Unless you want to cool off a little bit and then do it; I could use the time to change into my uniform." Shinju pointed at the red-and-white Academy uniform lying on her futon. Another one had been draped over the end of my futon.

"Cool off?" I began to unlatch my trunks and hang my clothes in the wardrobe provided to us. Some of Shinju's clothing already hung there. "It's not as hot as yesterday, you know."

"Huh?" I could feel Shinju's innocent blink. "I just thought, you know, since you seem kinda upset..."

Oh. No wonder she wasn't sure about me. "Don't worry about it. I blew up at my mom earlier."

"Oh! Oh, good. Well not good, but I thought you might've wanted a different roommate." Shinju held up a red shitagi. "I wonder where they get this fabric. It doesn't feel like anything I've handled."

I started unpacking, unloading the few kimonos, kanzashi, and obi I'd brought. Makoto had tried to make me take more, but I really didn't want to lug around more crap than I needed. There wasn't much of a chance that I'd be wearing the ones I'd brought anyway. Academy uniforms were similar to Shinigami uniforms in that they were acceptable at most events, if uncreative. "Color's kinda familiar. I think that might be a Hirako dye."

"Really? I forgot that your clan works with dyes too," she said, carefully undressing so as not to ruin her outfit. "Did you hear about a mistake with the Lady Kira's juunihitoe? The hitoe was too blue, so we had to switch it for a greener version at the last minute."

We talked like that for a while as I set out my personal belongings and changed into my uniform, discussing our favorite shades and debating the merits of various patterns.

"...but the Raw Silk Wisteria just seems somewhat unrefined. I mean, it's not if you ask most people, but I don't like that the silk is so incomplete-looking, you know?" Shinju said as we left our room at last.

I hummed, thinking for a second about how to not offend her. "I gotta say that I like the uniqueness," I admitted, tying my hair back into a loose ponytail with a ribbon. "But I wish the red-orange that one uses for the hitoe was used for the karaginu more often. It's so fiery. I used to have a yukata that color, but I grew out of it."

"Too bright for me," Shinju said as we stepped out into the afternoon air. "But to each their own. What division do you think you'll want when we graduate?"

A startled laugh burst out of me. Think? I knew exactly which one I wanted to join and which one I had to. I'd known for years. "Maa, I'm not going to think about that now. We haven't even had our first class. You know what you want already?"

"Hmm." Shinju tilted her head back, letting the sunlight spill over her face. Despite being tall and calm from what I'd seen of her, Shinju had a surprisingly impish face, with high cheekbones, a short chin, and a broad forehead. Her height and features seemed almost at odds, but considering the small size of the Fujikage clan it wouldn't surprise me if one parent had been from outside the clan—a low-rank Shihouin, maybe. It was hard to say without knowing any other members of her family. "The Third would suit me really well, I think, since I already know how to work with colors. But my brother Kohaku's the Eleventh Seat of the Tenth and he brings back all these stories about the people there. They're really hard-working and thoughtful, you know, so I want to go there."

"Heyyy, firsties!" A voice called out. Shinju and I turned to see someone whose face made my heart stop.

Slender and pale-skinned, Kuna Mashiro hadn't yet filled out in the way I knew she would. Her hair, so cartoonishly green that it should've been illegal, was long enough to be held back bandana-style by the deep pink scarf I vaguely remembered from Turn Back the Pendulum.

I couldn't have pointed to what made this Mashiro starkly different from the one I remembered. The physical differences barely gave me pause; she was still immediately recognizable as Mashiro. But there was a certain innocence to her features, instead of...what was it I had seen in her Before? It was a certain drive to win, to be better than the person next to her, but more than that, a need to survive and challenge. Bloodlust, almost.

I shivered despite the warm weather. I hoped with all my heart that it was simply a reflex born out of a century being attacked by onmitsu and battling her inner Hollow. But if it wasn't, if it was survival instincts amplified by the Hollow, I was going to have a very unpleasant time trying to keep my personality mine.

"Hey! Come with meee, you dumb newbies!" Mashiro shrilled, bounding over to us. "There's going to be an orientation assembly-thing! With all the teachers there and everything! And I'm supposed to grab any firsties I see and bring them, so come on! Don't you know that you can't refuse an awesome upperclassman like me?!" She skipped off just as soon as she'd finished talking, clearly expecting us to follow. I rubbed my ears. No wonder Kensei had trouble dealing with her.

I glanced over at Shinju, whose mouth formed an 'O' of surprise. If I hadn't known what she would be like already, I would've had my jaw on the ground too. The Mashiro Experience, as I decided to dub it, was interesting. Not fascinating interesting, the interesting that people everywhere to mean weird. We followed wordlessly.

Mashiro led us to a hall much like the one we'd taken our exams in, rows of seats and desks fanning out from a central stage. A lot of other first-years were there, chattering away.

"Okay, so this is it!" Mashiro announced, flinging her arms out to encompass the whole hall and nearly hitting an unfortunate first-year in the face. "I'm going to leave now 'cause this is super-boring and I'm a fourth-year with better things to do. So you two be good and remember my name, okay? I'm Kuna Mashiro, the best Hakuda user in my entire year! Believe it!" She flounced off as soon as she had finished again.

"Is it really so hard to have a conversation for a second longer than you have to?" I said dubiously, staring after her. "I mean, she could've waited for us to say thanks."

"I think Kuna-senpai probably just assumes that everyone's grateful to her," Shinju replied with a wry twist of her mouth. "Let's find a seat, okay?"

I scanned the area around us, looking for Shinji, and found that he'd already found a spot in a completely-full row. I stuck my tongue out at the back of his head and kept looking. Maybe...?

Sure enough, Minoru stood by the doors, looking as if he couldn't decide whether to take a seat or not.

"Fujikage-san," I asked her, "do you want to sit with that kid?" I canted my head towards Minoru. "I kinda met him before the exam and said I'd show him the ropes."

"Sure, I guess," she replied with a slight lift of the shoulders. We threaded our way through the crowd until Minoru was in earshot.

"Hey, Fugai-san!" I called as we neared him.

Minoru whirled so fast that he nearly fell over. "Huh? Wha- oh, it's you. Narin-san?" He hazarded, blinking at me like a lost puppy.

"Nariko," I corrected. "Shinji's the only one who gets to call me Narin, and even that I whack him one for it."

"Oh, o-okay," Minoru said. "I reckoned that I wouldn't catch a look at ya after the exam, y'know."

"Who's this?" Shinju inserted herself into the conversation effortlessly. "Do you know each other?" Only a slight wrinkling of her features revealed that Shinju wasn't completely okay with associating with a high-district kid.

"Minoru-san—or Fugai-san, whichever you want—meet Fujikage Shinju," I introduced them. "Fujikage-san's my roommate. Fujikage-san, I met him before the exam and gave him a couple tips on life here."

Poor Minoru couldn't even look Shinju in the eye. Scuffing his feet, he said, "N-nice to meet you, Fujikage-san?" He sent me a look that said he didn't know whether his honorific was right.

Shinju took it well enough, though. "Fujikage-san's right. I'm a second daughter and not even main family, so there's no reason for anything like -sama." She laughed. "Imagine that, me getting a Fujikage-sama. My family's not all that powerful, Fugai-san, don't worry. And even if we were, every student's supposed to be equal at Shin'ou."

"Supposed ta be," Minoru scoffed, then clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes going so wide I thought his eyeballs would roll out. "I-I mean, I-ah-"

"It's like Fujikage-san said, don't worry about it," I assured him. "Everybody knows how things really work. Just use -san for our classmates and if they get mad, play up the puppy eyes and tell them an upperclassman told you how to address them."

He half-smiled, hand dropping back to his side. "I'll do that. And Minoru-san works just fine. I think the Academy bigwigs just gave me my district as a placeholder family name anyway."

Shinju nodded wisely. "That's custom. You can go change it if you find a better one, I think. Hirako-san, there are a few seats open over there." She nodded at a handful of seats over towards the wall.

We took three of those seats, squeezing past the people who wouldn't deign to slide over. I sat between Minoru and Shinju, swinging my legs back and forth.

"So, um, Fujikage-san, how do you write your name?" Minoru asked. "The kanji for 'truth' in your given name, but then what?"

"Actually, my name means 'pearl,'" she told him. "My family name's written as 'wisteria' and 'shadow.'" Shinju smiled wistfully. "There're these beautiful wisteria vines all over back home, so I guess that's where it came from."

"But doesn't your brother's name mean 'truth?'" Minoru asked, glancing at me. "Shinji-san?"

"Yes," I explained patiently. "But that's because there're two kanji in his name, and the one for truth reads as 'shin.' It's not the only meaning for that sound."

"Oh," he muttered, staring at his hakama. "That... huh. Nariko-san, is there a chance ya could-"

Minoru didn't get to finish as the bald man from before strode onto the stage and boomed, "Quiet down!"

It was as though he'd cast a Kidou over the whole room. Complete silence.

"I am Ounabara Gengorou, head teacher of the accelerated class for the prospective Gotei students and headmaster of the Shin'ou Academy," he said, voice carrying to the back of the room as clearly as if I was right in front of him. I wondered idly if there was a class on how to do that voice. "From the moment your enlistment was announced, you belonged to me, to this school. I do not expect that you all ascend to great rank in your chosen services. I do not even expect that you all survive your time at the Academy." He paused for effect, sweeping his gaze across the students. "But I do expect that you all devote your souls to the ancient and honorable duty that we train you for. I expect that you forge within yourselves the resolve and strength to defend the Court of Pure Souls with your lives." I winced. Two sentences and he'd hit us with more moral and social pressure than I could've put into an essay. I sneaked a glance at Minoru and Shinju. Both wore exactly the sort of rise-to-the-challenge, star-struck expressions Ounabara had probably been going for.

"The path of a Shinigami is not easy. Every one of you could've chosen civilian lives, free from danger and pain. And the great majority of people do make that choice. There is no shame in a civilian path. They are as essential as the earth we walk on." Ounabara's voice rose. "But you few, you are fire! And the life of a Shinigami is a life of honor, a calling that brings glory and power with its danger and pain. Your service to the Central 46 and to all Soul Society is what keeps Hueco Mundo's beasts at bay and the Living World in its rhythms." I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat. 'Chosen few' mentality, check. 'Special snowflake,' check. 'Rewards that outweigh costs,' check. 'Demonizing the other side while glorifying ours,' check, even though Hollows really were more demonic than Hell's Togabito. And a nice dollop of 'all-important responsibility' on top of it all. Persuasion that would've toppled me if I was anyone but me, if I really was just a regular noble kid, starry-eyed and ready to be a hero. As it was, I wanted to believe him more than anything I'd ever wanted in both my lives. No wonder Shinigami were so blindly loyal. They were told from enrollment that duty and responsibility were everything. If they didn't serve the Central 46, they were worthless. And then Shinigami retired and had kids, or led their clans, or brought back stories for impressionable nieces and nephews and those beliefs sank into the core of the culture.

"I have invested my life into training the next protectors of Soul Society." Ounabara's voice had gone quiet, but its intensity wasn't lessened. "I have invested my life into each and every person who wears the uniform right now, into every person who serves Soul Society for the past two and a half centuries. And looking out at every face here, I see the potential for greatness in every one of you, whether a Kuchiki prince or a Zaraki urchin. Do not fail me, this Academy, Soul Society by not striving to reach the peak of that potential. Do not fail yourselves."

I didn't hear any more of his speech. The nausea produced by his words returned in force. I bolted from the hall, missing the bushes outside and heaving up last night's dinner and today's breakfast-lunch all over the path. When my sides stopped heaving, I wobbled to my feet, wiping the back of my mouth with my hand. Cautiously, I inched over towards the side of the hall and slid down, back against it.

When I could think straight, the dizziness fading, I knew I had to add another part to my plan: keep Shinji from being brainwashed. And Minoru and Shinju, while I was at it. The last part of Ounabara's speech was guaranteed to appeal to both. Shinju would like the idea of becoming great despite her place in her clan; Minoru would love the idea that his background didn't matter. But Shinji came first. I'd heard what felt like centuries ago that after losing everything, a person could never replace it all. There would always be pieces missing. If I could do anything to keep a few pieces in place, I had to.

I sat there for a while, focused on just breathing. I didn't bother going back in even when I felt well enough to. The grass was soft, the sun warm. If I shut out what was happening in the building at my back, I could trick myself into relaxing.

"Hey, firstie bitch. What got you so rattled?" A nasal voice said. I glared up at the person standing above me and nearly started laughing.

Yamada Seinosuke looked very little like his brother, sharing hair color and a fair skin tone and nothing else. No, that wasn't quite right—his blue eyes were the same color as Hanatarou's, but they were narrow and sharp instead of wide and innocent. His face was the same way, long with cheekbones sharp enough to match a Zanpakutou and a smirk that he probably thought looked cool.

Knowing that he'd eventually get replaced by Isane, an adorable and strangely effective mouse of a woman, made it hard to take him seriously.

"Maybe it's your ugly face, upperclassman," I told him. Oh dear Lord, did I just use 'your face' as an insult? I gotta update my repertoire. "Screw off."

His jaw dropped, like I'd expected it to, face turning some very interesting colors. What I didn't expect was his hand shooting out and grabbing my kosode, hauling me up.

"What'd you say, you punk-ass bitch?" He hissed. Seinosuke's spit speckled my face. "You wanna get punished your first day of school? Damn, firsties get more and more uppity each year." He practically threw me to the ground. "Show some respect and I might let you get away with it, bitch."

I registered the pain building in my head dully as I picked myself up. First time I can forgive. Second time I start to get pissed. Third time and he's dead. I drew myself up to my full height of 165 centimeters, cold fire coursing through my frame, and snarled, "How about you show some respect, Yamada. You're the one who wanted to pick a fight with a first-year." Shut up shut up you're going to get in trouble- "Say you're sorry and your bruises will only last a week." Shit.

Later I'd thank God for blessing Seinosuke with such amazing arrogance. He sputtered curses for long enough that I could drop into a crescent stance, then attacked with a swipe-punch mix that Shin'ou really should've trained him out of by now. I swatted his arm away and sank deeper into my stance as he launched a kick at my head. I grabbed his leg with one hand, jabbing him in the ribs with a full-moon fist. The follow-up backfist to the face I tried was met by Seinosuke's forearm, arms finally up to block. Double shit! I switched tactics on a dime, driving another full-moon fist into his kidney. Seinosuke's hook punch swung around so fast his sleeve brushed my head as I ducked beneath. Fuckfuckfuck thank God he overcommits- I slammed a crescent palm into his exposed back. Another full-moon to the ribs and he swore loudly. My heart almost stopped when I saw his face go white with adrenaline. I had to end this nownownow. He staggered away from the full-moon punch I threw at his head, spitting curses, and again when I tried for the back of his head.

My dad had told Shinji and me several times during training that the smartest thing to do when faced with an opponent of unknown skill was run. That made me really fucking stupid, even more stupid to get confident.

So I was completely unprepared for the wild swing Seinosuke took at me. His forearm smashed into the side of my head. Stars burst across my vision as I staggered away, muscle memory the only thing keeping my hands up to block. Shit he's gonna strike! My brain shrieked.

Crack.

Seinosuke had made the mistake of forgetting his environment. As he lunged in to take advantage of Shifting Moon Style's weak point, his leading foot came down the wrong way on the vomit-covered path. He slid, overcorrected with windmilling arms, and toppled backwards. I cringed as his head slammed against the stone.

As luck would have it, the assembly let out right about then. A student pushed through the doors, foot coming down on Seinosuke's hand with a crunch. The poor kid shouted in surprise, jerking back. At least Seinosuke only twitched; the fall had, luckily for me, knocked him out.

A teacher came running, shoving through the mass of students and finding Seinosuke lying prone on the ground. When his eyes landed on me, I flinched as if Seinosuke'd hit me again. I'm going to be in such deep shit.

Ten minutes later, I was sitting seiza in Ounabara's office besides Seinosuke as a fifth-year healed the worst of his injuries. Not all, though—Ounabara apparently wanted Seinosuke to hurt as a reminder of the rule against fighting. Me the fifth-year left untouched, beyond a few questions to see if I had a concussion.

"Fighting on the first day of school," he boomed, shaking his head. The air was thick with his spirit pressure, solid and rough like a boulder. It would've worked better if I hadn't felt Shinji's spirit pressure earlier and knew there was no comparison. "I would've expected it from a high-district. I would've expected it of one of those thuggish young men who aspire to the Eleventh, or even a young man spoiled by his family's wealth into believing that the rules would ignore him. But not from a young Hirako lady with designs on the Third!"

"You read my application, sir?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. What the hell? Why?

"We may call in outside help for grading, but the teachers here review applications as well. By blind chance I ended up with yours," he said with another head shake. "I never imagined-!"

"Let's get the full story," the teacher who'd found us suggested gently. A gaunt-bodied but baby-faced man, he brushed shaggy purple hair out of his face. "Perhaps Yamada-kun simply slipped and fell?"

The bruises on my face would beg to differ.

"She attacked me!" Seinosuke yelped. "I made to help her up and she cursed at me and attacked me out of the blue!" He outlined a tale in which I'd insulted him and his family for pitying me when I'd been sick and then attacked him when he raised his hands to show that he didn't want any trouble.

"...but of course she doesn't need to be expelled," he concluded. "It's only her first day and all, and nobody's quite themselves when they're sick."

I bit my lip hard, waiting until Ounabara's stern stare turned to me for my side.

"No, I don't need to be expelled," I said as sweetly as I could manage, "because that's not what happened at all. I was sick before he found me, but when he appeared I was just waiting for the assembly to be over." i'd learned long ago to present the facts as clearly as possible and in a good deal of detail. People who whined tended to get overlooked. "Yamada-san swore at me as he asked why I was sitting there. I made the mistake of insulting him back because I was irritated and feeling sick. However Yamada-san took it too far by grabbing me by my shirt and lifting me off the ground. He implied that I was stuck-up and cursed at me twice more, then told me that if I apologized respectfully he wouldn't report me. Since he wasn't acting in a way that deserved respect, I told him to respect me as he was the aggressor and asked him to apologize. Admittedly, I did tell him that if he apologized he would have bruises only for a week, which was a mistake." My fists clenched by my sides. "He attacked me after that. I attempted to block but then didn't know what to do because my clan style focuses on offense and defense at the same time. I then fought back. Yamada-san got in a lucky hit on me, but he was knocked out by the ground, not me." I tried to arrange my expression into one of chagrin. "He slipped on my, um, vomit, sir. So sensei was right about that."

"Oshiro-sensei," the man in question put in with a kind smile. I thought I might be able to like him, even after this incident.

Ounabara glared at both of us. "Yamada, Is this the case? I remind you both that lying again will result in doubled punishment."

"No!" Seinosuke burst out instinctively before red stained his face. "I-I mean yes, sir."

Ounabara grunted, clasping his hands in front of him. "Then I may make my verdict. Hirako, you are to receive double Hakuda classes for the next month and to assist whichever Hakuda teachers require help for the next two months. Hopefully you will learn enough beyond Shifting Moon to handle situations in a less aggressive manner. Yamada, for lying to me you will clean up all the Kidou ranges indefinitely. For insulting a student before provocation and attacking her, you will take classes with the Kidou Corps prospectives on meditation for the next four months that you may learn some self-control."

"But sir, I have Paperwork at that time!" Seinosuke protested.

Ounabara frowned mightily. "Your Administrative Abilities teacher will be informed of your occupation. She will have a classmate give you the coursework and notes so that you may make it up on your own time." I pursed my lips together to avoid laughing. Administrative Abilities? Really? "You are hereby dismissed."

Seinosuke and I stood, bowing low with Oshiro-sensei. As a group we backed out of the room. Oshiro-sensei ducked into another office with an admonition to the both of us to 'be good.' Seinosuke and I were left standing in the hallway.

"Horse-teeth punk," he muttered, clipping me with his shoulder as he set off first.

I didn't have a response to that, so I headed in the opposite direction without a word.

As it turned out, I didn't know where the heck I was going. I managed to find a dining hall only by following the sound of students chattering. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that fighting made me hungry.

I caught up with Shinji by sheer luck. Sliding into the crowd, I bumped him with my shoulder. "Hi, dork. I miss anything?"

He flashed a smile. "'Sides a lecture about not fightin'? Not a thing. What's your punishment now, troublemaker?"

I elbowed him in the ribs. "I'm not a troublemaker! But I have to take double Hakuda for a month and help out the Hakuda teachers for two months. You should've seen Yamada. He tried lying to Ounabara-sensei and now he gets to clean Kidou ranges until they tell him to stop and take meditation classes."

Shinji snickered as we entered the dining hall. "For serious? Dang, maybe you were holdin' back in training."

I smirked at him. "I never say anything I don't mean, Shin. Do you want to sit with your roommate?"

"Who, Aizen? Nah, he's no fun. Gave me this scared-deer look the second I got to the room and didn't say anything but his name. I tried to talk to him, I swear. But he's kinda weird, y'know? I think he even scurried off before the assembly," Shinji said.

Aizen.

Aizen Sousuke was here.

Aizen fucking Sousuke was here.

And he was a student.

Fuck.


	4. Through Adversity

_Arc: Armoury_

 _Arc Flower: Gladiolus_

* * *

I woke early after a night of tossing and turning. Shinju, for all her virtues, snored. I got dressed in the mechanical way of one who wasn't awake enough to be sleepy.

Normally, I'd just go back to sleep. With Shinju—who from the sound of her breathing probably had hay fever, a comforting idea since she'd be quieter come fall—in the room, however, there was no chance of that. I might as well get something done, right? Or at least find a better place to sleep. I slipped out of the room and made for a training field I'd seen on the way here.

Movement tended to wake me up, if only because I had to be awake to not fall flat on my face. Or stumble through a screen, in one memorable instance. When I found the training field in question, I had to pause for a second to figure out where a good place to stand would be. It had rained overnight, so the formerly level grass was now pocked with puddles and mud. Something told me that it was bad form to show up wearing a dirty uniform.

I untied my waraji and tugged off my socks, laying both on the path. There really wasn't any way to avoid getting those wet, after all. I poked the edge of the training field with my toe, testing the ground. It didn't squish too much, so I minced out towards a vaguely dry patch.

There was really only one kind of training I could practice by myself on a muddy training field: forms. Shifting Moon had quite a few, taught depending on how much a practitioner knew of the style overall. I had four to practice, creatively titled Shrine Maiden's Crescent, Half Moon Mirror, Cloud Across the Moon, and Cleaving Crescent Sickle. It was way too early to go through anything complicated, so I set up for Shrine Maiden's Crescent. It was an easy form, the first I'd learned, with more emphasis on ceremony than chaining techniques. Of course, it was still part of a Hakuda style, so most of the techniques demonstrated in it were entirely applicable to combat.

As I ran through the 'hailing the ten moons' technique, I could appreciate—or fail to appreciate—Shin'ou in the morning. I couldn't call it morning quite yet, since the sun's livid pink had barely poked over the horizon. A soft breeze whisked through the trees planted around campus, bringing the mineral scents of stone and dirt with it. I got to the hailing of the new moon and paused—the new moon represented the void, so it was usually represented by touching one's forehead to the ground. Having mud on my forehead didn't appeal, so I bowed from the waist instead.

A flicker of movement caught my attention as I straightened for the next section. I squinted at it—a person or just tree leaves? A person, I decided as I caught sight of messy brown hair nearly hidden by a dull olive cloak. Aizen? I wondered. Maybe not Aizen, but if it was I had to know. I squelched back across the field and began to pad towards maybe-Aizen.

Sure enough, when I got close enough to pick out facial features his head snapped around. I went perfectly still, squinting ahead. Just because there was no way he could've heard me approach didn't mean I should be sloppy. Oval smoke-tinted glasses perched on the end of his nose instead of the familiar rectangular frames, and the roundness of childhood hadn't quite left Aizen's face, but it was unmistakably him. Already got the innocent act up, huh? I thought at him.

I waited for a few seconds, but Aizen didn't turn around. Instead, even weirder, I thought I saw his nostrils flare, head tilting back slightly like some kind of big cat scenting its prey. What the hell? Almost as soon as his head tilted back, however, it snapped back down. I knew I wasn't imagining it when Aizen's eyes flicked around, hand flying up to cover his nose and mouth. Double what the hell? If he took revenge on Shinji for bullying him, I can kinda see why.

"Wh-who's there?" He called out, voice thin and reedy instead of the rich baritone it would eventually become. I snickered, then clapped a hand over my own mouth. Well, there was no helping it now. I stepped out onto the path, approaching him with my hands up, palms out. Best to do what I could to avoid the wrath of a future mass murderer, even over something so minor.

"I'm Hirako Nariko," I called back, pitching my voice low to not wake anyone. "Sorry, I didn't think anybody else was up."

Aizen went white, stepping back as if scared of me. After a second, though, his frame relaxed. "S-sorry. Are you my roommate's sister?"

"That's me," I agreed. "I couldn't sleep, so I was doing a form. Did Shinji snore too much or something?"

He shook his head, scuffing his toes on the path. "N-no. I just- couldn't sleep." His gaze flicked away, body swaying as if he wanted to get away from me. Is this really the same guy who stabbed Hinamori? He was definitely lying, though. My instincts told me so, and my impressions of people had never been wrong.

"Me neither," I said, then smacked myself in the forehead reflexively. Stupid, you already said that! "Um, I know it's only been a day and all, but he hasn't been mean, has he?" I asked. "Shinji can be kinda prickly with people he's just met. I'm trying to train him out of it, but Hirako men are kinda stubborn." I forced my lips into a smile, rubbing the nape of my neck.

Aizen shook his head. Wow, he was weirdly quiet for a guy who'd loved to monologue. "No. I just- too many changes in one day." His eyes flickered away again. Yeah, there was something going on with him without question.

I bit my lip, feeling a little quiver inside at having to extend myself. "Well, um, you can tell me if he is, okay? I'll knock some sense into him. I guess you must've heard I don't like bullies, and I really don't like my brother getting away with murder, so I'll really have it out with him."

I was rewarded with the first smile I'd ever seen from him—the first non-evil smile, anyway. Wait, that wasn't right, since I'd seen Aizen-as-captain smile very nicely, but that was a lie like this one probably was. It fell away as his face twitched. Aizen went pale again, backing up. "S-sure Nari-Nariko-san. I need to go," Aizen stammered. Before I could so much as say goodbye, he turned and flash-stepped away with a faint buzzing sound. Flash-stepped? I stared after him. It didn't matter how strong you were, you needed training to flash-step. Training Aizen didn't have.

Well, I wouldn't solve that puzzle today. I turned and went back to finish my form. I didn't really believe in all the psuedo-Shinto rituals of Soul Society, but I still tried to respect them. Not finishing Shrine Maiden's Crescent was supposed to anger kami, so I decided it made sense to finish it. Leaving it uncompleted would bug me the whole day, which helped.

The half-dried mud on my feet made for decent protection from the cold grass and water. I shut out the bugs that no doubt wriggled through the dirt by focusing on what was up with Aizen. He was definitely twitchy and reclusive. I wouldn't go so far as to say paranoid, but he jumped at every shadow. Why he'd be scared of me was baffling. Why he'd skip the assembly and avoid the roommate he'd just met was even weirder. It was like Aizen was scared of people.

My eyes narrowed as I mimicked the fanning of incense with flicking crescent palms. Or maybe he's already plotting, I mused. Who blinks twice at a first-year getting lost around campus? It's a good chance to size up the competition, maybe get at some information that Seireitei libraries don't have.

No. I wasn't going to think that way. It hadn't done Shinji any good, after all. I was going to be friendly to Aizen with a healthy dose of wariness. Most beginning friendships were like that anyway.

I finished with a bow to my imaginary audience and went back to pick up my footwear. The sun was half over the horizon and I didn't want Shinju seeing my plans.

When I got back to the room, the mud had dried enough that I wouldn't make tracks all the way down the hall. I sat lotus-style on the floor, scraping at my dirty feet with my fingernails. One of the many strange things about Soul Society was their technology. They didn't have plumbing, but inventing things like the near-invincible nail lacquer that protected my nails wasn't beyond them. From the varieties that I'd seen in markets, the ones Makoto wouldn't let me get, I was guessing that that had come about as a method of delivering poison. One scratch and you'd be writhing on the floor. Which said some pretty disturbing things about Soul Society, really. I brushed off the grass on my feet and then got out my writing materials.

I'd brought very specific brushes and paper for my time here. Almost all had bamboo stalks and were made with rabbit hair, with those being divided into large, medium, and small and further into soft, medium, and hard textures. I'd discovered a love for calligraphy in my time here, so I'd gathered a collection of brushes. I'd been limited to one per category, save for the crown jewel of my collection: a silver-stemmed brush with hair from my first haircut as a child. It was supposed to bring good luck whenever I used it. Whether that was true or not, I didn't know, but the brush was irreplaceable and beautiful. I left it in its case with a twinge of regret; small brushes like that were used only for the smallest pieces and seals. Instead I picked an all-purpose brush and began to put down my notes.

Get close to Aizen. Figure out what's up with his powers. And keep Shinji away from him if possible.

It was a short note, but one I'd need. If the classes here were as hard as my father had led me to believe, I'd need to keep my classwork in my head and my plans on paper or I'd forget both.

I'd just gotten my materials stored away again when I heard a tremendous yawn from Shinju. Shit, I thought. Then, Is it bad that I'm swearing so early in the morning? Oh well. I'd never claimed to be a lady. Even if technically I was one.

"You're already up?" She murmured, face puffy with sleep.

"I've been up for a while," I replied, yawning myself. "Quick question: do you have hay fever?"

Shinju stood, padding across the room for a comb to untangle her hair with. "Yes, why?"

"No reason," I said automatically, going to fetch my own comb. One untangling of a rat's nest later, I put it up into a bun and turned to face my roommate. "Think this'll stay?"

She peered at it critically. "Looks like it. Got everything else together?"

I glanced around, grabbing my travel case, a sheaf of papers, and my scroll for notes. There would be times when I saw something that would factor into my plans. "I am now."

"Not without your course list," Shinju pointed out, plucking mine off the top of my trunk and handing it to me. "Honestly, am I going to be the responsible one here?"

Considering that I wasn't the one whose hair was wildly impractical for combat and that I probably had a good deal more research and theories about our studies, I doubted that. "That remains to be seen," I said. It was a way of saying something without saying anything that Asami-sensei had taught me long ago. Helped with keeping the peace while not committing, a very useful business ethic.

Shinju shook her head as we left the room and joined the masses in the corridors. "Are you really a Hirako? Shinji-san's so different, you know," she said.

I gave her my widest sarcastic smile. "Nope. Secretly I'm an impostor from another world, here on a mission to avert a future war." One of the benefits of my smile: absolutely no one believed me when I wore it. Even if the truth wasn't quite as powerful when nobody listened to it, my conscience felt a little lighter for it.

"You must be one, to joke so early in the morning," Shinji grumbled. Looked like she wasn't a morning person either.

Breakfast was plain and simple, not much different from breakfast at home. Made sense, if you thought about how many people had to be fed. They couldn't waste money on spices and complicated dishes here.

Minoru found Shinju and me pretty quickly; that kid had eyes like a hawk's when it came to picking out people he knew. I wondered as I shoveled a spoonful of rice into my mouth whether it was a reflex born from his childhood or just something Minoru was good at. Shinji plunked himself down by Shinju a few minutes after we'd sat down.

"You're late to the party," I teased. "What, we weren't important enough that you felt like hurrying?"

He poked his tongue out at me, taking a massive bite of his rice. "If I start hurrying now, there'll be a precedent," he insisted. "And if there's a precedent, people will expect me to hurry, and then I'll be runnin' everywhere doin' everything and die of overwork."

"Your roommates aren't here, Minoru-san, Shinji-san." Shinju broke up our conversation before it could lead to bickering. "Not hungry?"

Minoru shook his head. He'd inhaled his food even faster than Shinji and looked like he could go for more. "I didn't get no roommate," he muttered. I had to strain to hear his voice. "Somethin' happened and he had ta head back home."

"Lucky dog," Shinji declared with a wave of his chopsticks. I glared at him. We'd been raised better than that, I'd like to think. "Mine's too shy to say a word and a creep on top of it all. Fashion sense is hella lackin', too. He showed up in this cloak, mucha his skin covered as he could without bein' Kidou Corps. Didja know, he left the room when he thought I was gettin' my beauty sleep and came back all dirty-like at dawn? What 'e was doin' all night's beyond me."

"At least your beauty sleep worked," Shinju said. I blinked at her. Was that- did I just see-? "I mean, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Not a bit, lovely." Shinji grinned. "Didn't catch yer name. Nari-nee, introduce us!"

I obliged him with a roll of the eyes. "Fujikage-san, this is my idiot little brother Shinji. Shinji, meet my roommate Fujikage Shinju-san."

Any lecherous comments my brother might've made were interrupted as I felt someone come up behind me.

"Good morning, Hirako-san." Aizen's voice sounded a little less wavery than it had this morning, without even a stutter. "May I eat with you?"

Shinji flapped a hand at him. "Don't go asking me that. I got no authority, neither does anybody else at this table. You can sit wherever you want."

I scooted over, nodding at the bench beside me. "You can sit by me if you want, Aizen-san," I interjected. "And don't listen to Shinji. I've got authority over him; our mom said so."

His expression tightened slightly at the mention of our mother, but Aizen nodded and sat down where I'd motioned to. "You're Hirako Nariko-san?" He asked, as though we hadn't met under strange circumstances that morning. "And... Fujikage-san and Minoru-san?"

Both nodded. "Your hearing's great," Shinju commented, "to have heard us just now."

Aizen flushed, gaze dropping to his miso soup. "I must've heard someone mention them earlier," he murmured. "It's too noisy in here."

We sat in silence for a while after that, waiting for dismissal. Aizen wolfed down his food almost as fast as Minoru, to my surprise. I didn't know exactly what I'd been expecting—maybe that Aizen would eat puppies or something?

I had started to wonder if we were supposed to just leave when we'd finished when a familiar voice boomed out over the hall.

"Students!" Ounabara declared. "As the school year commences and we receive new students, I expect you all to make their integration into this school as effortless as possible. Should you find a lost first-year, please direct them to the proper class. Having them take detours through Kidou ranges is highly frowned-upon, may I remind you." Laughter bubbled up from the gathered students. "All first-years should procure their course lists, which were handed to them yesterday. Please find a teacher who may direct you to the nearest administrative office if you have lost that list. Dismissed!" He clapped his hands, sending students scattering.

"What do you have first, Hirako-san?" Shinju asked. "I think my first class is... Rukongai Studies 1? Aww, that sounds boring."

I tsk'ed at her. "Far from it. More interesting than Seireitei, where the latest news is about Ginrei-sama's newest bonsai. And I've got... Soul Government 1? Joy." I actually was pretty happy about that. Contrary to popular belief, governments couldn't function for as long as Soul Society's had if they were cartoonishly evil. Getting a look into why, say, the Central 46 was so ridiculously uptight about rules would be very enlightening.

We walked together to the building our classes took place in, which seemed to involve Social Studies-esque material, then parted ways.

The classroom I walked into was the lecture hall on a smaller scale, rings of low desks for students to kneel at with the teacher's slightly larger desk facing them. A blackboard hung behind the teacher's desk, a simple command written in thick chalk on its surface: "STAY STANDING." Terrific. A hardass teacher.

As my classmates filtered in without any sign of our teacher, I began to revise my opinion of this guy. Maybe he was eccentric. Or deader than the rest of us. I was hoping for dead. Eccentric was hard to deal with—and yes, I was aware how strange that was coming from me. My whole family was eccentric.

The teacher strode in five minutes after everyone was there—I knew, I'd counted both desks and people. He went directly to the board, snatched a piece of chalk, and wrote kanji there that gave me pause. Military, net, love, river? Why is that so-

I paled as I saw the furigana scrawled hastily above. Aikawa Rabu. Aikawa Love. Oh, c'mon God, could I escape just a few of the Visoreds? Please? I'm not supposed to be a protagonist!

Sure enough, the man who turned around bore Love's broad features and dark skin. No sunglasses or afro yet, thankfully. Love sported a buzz-cut and, incongruously, a small brass hoop in one ear. Yeah, I'd say he was definitely eccentric.

"Alright, for those of you who want to complain about seating arrangements, my name's on the board," he told us. "Aikawa-sensei to you, though."

"Aikawa-sensei?" A mint-haired girl said, tilting her head at the board. "Why can't we sit down?"

"'Cause I have to assign seats," he explained, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a crinkled piece of paper. "Helps with remembering names, and y'all need to get to know each other. Sitting next to strangers at Shin'ou'll give you some lifelong friends." I suppressed a snort. Love was Love, ridiculous fan of manga, track suits, and sunglasses, even if he hadn't discovered any of those yet. I kinda had to feel bad for him, though, given the way my classmates were grumbling. Disconnected as the divisions were from one another, it came as no shock that those who believed in teamwork as Love did were few and far between.

As we waited for him to finish deciphering the paper's contents, an idea made me snicker. Had Rose and Love met by sitting next to each other in one class or another? It would explain how two wildly different people had come to be friends.

"Something funny, Hirako?" Love said, fixing me with a level brown gaze. "Government amuse you?"

"No sir," I replied, blushing.

"Good. Okay, Abe Natsumi sits in the back row, third seat from the left. Then... Moon Eun-kyung? Yeah, you go in the front row, dead middle." Love went on assigning seats in this way, no obvious rhyme or reason to where anyone sat or the order in which he announced the seating. Ooh, this class would be fun.

Once we'd all gotten settled and introduced ourselves at Love's instruction, he wiped away his name from the board. "So, who can tell me the different governments of Soul Society? Hirako, you seem to like politics. Tell the class."

I grinned. If Love wanted to know about the government of Soul Society, boy was he in for a treat. "Technically Soul Society's ruled by the Soul King, but the Central 46 has all the power. They're a bunch of wise men and judges. Their authority over Soul Society is absolute. Beneath them are the Kidou Corps, the Onmitsukidou, and the Gotei 13. The Gotei 13 has thirteen divisions, some having specific purposes and others being more general. Divisions are led by the captains and lieutenants, who are roughly equivalent to the Grand and Vice Kidou Chiefs of the Kidou Corps respectively. The Kidou Corps handles senkaimon, Soukyoku executions, and the creation and regulation of new Kidou, I think. Something like that. The Onmitsukidou handles everything stealthy. Assassinations, executions, spying, messages, the Maggots' Nest, that kind of thing." Thank you, Bleach wiki, and thank you, many hours spent avoiding work. You taught me well. "And there are district and town governments within the Rukongai, with the clans ruling Seireitei and the low Rukon," I added. A person might've wondered why I showed off my knowledge. With people like Aizen around, it probably wasn't good to show my hand this early on. Fact was, that wouldn't work if I wanted to take the 12th's lieutenancy. I had to show off, make sure people knew I knew what I was talking about and came sniffing around.

Plus, it was just a class on Soul Society's government. Knowing about it didn't reveal much except that I was a bookworm and a brown-noser. And why shouldn't I show off something I was pretty damn good at?

Love's mouth opened, closed. Opened again as he blinked rapidly at me. "Uh. Yes, that. I guess I know who the class bookworm is now." The class laughed. I grinned back at them, entirely unashamed of my status. Love consulted a paper lying on his desk, probably a lesson plan. "Well, now that half our lesson's been spoiled, who wants to tell us about the Onmitsukidou in more detail? Liu?"

A Chinese boy who, judging from the fact that his nails were lacquered and filed to points, was on the Onmitsukidou track, inclined his head. "All covert operations are handled by the Onmitsukidou. While the Gotei 13 is obvious and handles all public military action, onmitsu act in secrecy and handle all delicate matters. Uprisings are handled by the Onmitsukidou, as are influential undesirables. The Onmitsukidou works beneath the Shihouin clan and is tied to the Second Division."

"They're called knives for a reason!" A spiky-haired girl from the back of the room called. "A stab in the dark with a little poison and you've got yourself a business deal all of a sudden!"

Whump.

If Love's reiatsu had had a sound effect, it would've been 'whump.' There was no flow, no crackle, just a drop into existence. If Shinji's had been a sunny day, Love's was an oven, contained fire and the press of searing air on my skin. A circle, I thought. Heavy, dark, deep, cold. Reiryoku in, reiatsu out. This time my blue-green light was joined by other displays of color. I caught tan grit and intent—a path?—from the boy to my right, amber dull feathers and a sharp mind—a crow—from a girl in the front row, even rosy paleness and roundness—a pearl?—from whoever sat behind me. But most kids—including the girl who'd spoken—stiffened or slumped beneath the press of the future captain's power.

After a deliberate moment, Love's reiatsu withdrew back beneath his skin. Was that what passed for discipline in Soul Society? "'The Kidou Corps maintains the order of the twilight. The Gotei 13 maintain the order of the day. And the Onmitsukidou maintain the order of the night,'" he quoted. "It's a poem written by the Captain-Commander himself. You can't have time without all of 'em, that's how I take it to mean. So don't go disrespecting your peers and your elders for the careers they've chosen. They're all needed if you wanna keep the peace. Apologize, Sinawatra."

The girl flushed, ducking her head. I could've sworn there were tears in her eyes, and no wonder. Reiatsu displays like that hurt if you couldn't shove back. "S-Sorry, Liu-khun."

"Not a problem," Liu said mildly. The set of his jaw said otherwise.

Love peered at a girl in the front row, who seemed to have given up sitting upright entirely. He waved a hand in front of her face. Meeting no response, he sighed. "Time for a lesson on how to project your reiatsu. Does anyone listen to the entrance exams anymore?"

Love rose, grabbed the chalk again, and began to draw. I cringed as he drew a circle, then a heart besides it. The circle was more of a wobbly square, while the heart looked more like a circle with a dimple at the top. How could someone suck so bad at art? Rukia was better, for heaven's sake. He half-turned back to the class and tapped the heart. "Your reiryoku is generated in here. So to channel it into reiatsu all you have to do is do what you did with those crystal balls. Draw a circle separately from your reiryoku, then funnel it into the circle and out your body. Hands usually works best, but I met a guy who said that his feet work better, so whatever. Literally, that's all. I can't guarantee that it won't hurt to resist your teachers' reiatsu, but you won't pass out like- uh, I think this one's Moon. Hirako, Fujiwara, Ukitake, Himura, you've got the right idea."

The rest of the class passed as uneventfully as a lesson from a dead man could.

* * *

Reiryoku Manipulation, Soul History 1, and Rukongai Studies 1 were unremarkable, I concluded as I headed for a dining hall. Reiryoku Manipulation was the best, a prerequisite for Kidou and Hohou 1 next term, but only because I liked playing with my powers. Otherwise, I could've napped and missed nothing.

Hakuda 2 had been substantially more challenging. Everyone had enough control that I wasn't worried about losing a tooth, but they were mostly older students. My inner quivering first-year had come out in full force. And to top it all off, my teacher Himura had started off the class with a lecture clearly aimed at me about not fighting outside of Hakuda class. I had a feeling that it would be my least favorite class this year.

I ate lunch, a bowl of salty ramen with pork, by myself. Wherever my circle of acquaintances—it was a little early to call them friends—had gone, it wasn't to this hall. I took the opportunity to get a good look at my classmates.

A surprising number were from the Rukongai, though most were from lower districts. The high-districts were really the minority, the rest of the students being fairly evenly split between nobles and low-districts. And it was weird to see that not everyone was Japanese. Most definitely were, but I'd seen Korean, Chinese, and Thai kids around. There was a pair of kids in Rukongai Studies that might be Vietnamese, but it had been so long that I could be wrong.

As for their spiritual abilities, few had anything remarkable. I caught the antiseptic-and-tile sensation of Seinosuke nearby, but there was only subdued irritation as he passed me. Phew. It was nice to see that he wasn't so petty that he'd keep trying to pick fights, at least not immediately after losing.

I blew my bangs away from my face with an irritated sigh. I'd been meaning to talk to Shinji about Aizen since this morning, but even when I did see him in the halls he was always talking to someone else. My brother, popular? Woe is me, I thought, popping a piece of pork into my mouth. I'll never be able to deflate his ego now. Especially since all his companions had seemed to be pretty girls.

I was forced to abandon the remains of my food as the gong for the next class rang, sending students scurrying off everywhere. I snatched my course list up from the table, scanning it frantically. Sixth class, sixth class... Hell yes. Introduction to Zanpakutou.

I had to practically sprint to make it on time. Some brilliant person had decided to put it on the opposite side of the campus from my Hakuda class. Note to self: take this schedule up with someone. Anyone.

I arrived to see Oshiro standing outside the classroom, beaming at and greeting every student who came by. Quite a few replied with a bright smile back. As I approached, he turned his smile on me.

"Hirako-chan! Are you feeling better now?" Oshiro asked, leaning in to get a good look at the bruises that had blossomed on the side of my face.

I grinned back. "Good afternoon, Oshiro-sensei. I'm feeling pretty good. Himura-sensei made someone take a look at my face, so it looks worse than it is."

"Himura-san?" He blinked, pushing his hair out of brown eyes. "Oh, I suppose I should've expected that you'd be in second-level Hakuda considering how you got those." Oshiro's eyes twinkled. I'd never thought that anyone's eyes could actually twinkle—brighten, maybe, or crinkle, but never twinkle. A new respect for the man filled me. "Well, head on in. Pick any seat you want."

I did as he'd said, finding a seat at the edge of one of the middle rows, easy to get to. There were windows in this room, but I had no designs on getting the universe's attention. I'd had enough of that, thanks, and I didn't need to be on the border between main character and side character. Only characters who were one or the other got plot armor in my humble experience. Lacking the angst and strangely specific appearance to be one of those, I'd settle for side character.

Oshiro came in a few minutes later, smiling at the class. His constant cheer was starting to wear just a little thin, but he hadn't said anything cheesy yet, so I let it slide. As a class we rose and bowed. Oshiro took his place at the front of the room, then turned to write his name on the board. I was starting to sense a pattern.

"For those who haven't met me yet, I'm Oshiro Nobuyuki. I teach Zanpakutou classes to all the years, so there's a chance that you'll have me next year too." He tucked a lock of hair behind his ears; it flopped stubbornly forwards again. "Does anyone have any questions before we start?"

"Yeah, where're our Zanpakutou?" The scrawny kid sitting in front of me called. I couldn't tell their gender—young and bony enough to go either way. I decided to call the kid a he for now. With lank, unwashed hair the color of peaches and a hairline scar down his neck, I guessed that he was from a middling district of the Rukon.

"Excellent question, Hayate-kun," Oshiro said. "You won't be getting asauchi today."

"What're those?" Hayate persisted. His voice, a little high and raspy, cleared absolutely nothing up. "I thought this was a Zanpakutou class."

Oshiro's face lit up. He looked like Shinji when Shinji'd found a person to prank and was devising ingenious ways to wreak havoc, just less devious. "Exactly why you can't have Zanpakutou just yet. We need to learn the basic terms and concepts behind Zanpakutou first." Theories. My mental mouth watered, anticipating the delicious problems to confront and explore.

Hayate grumbled something about 'old farts,' but he shut up. Everyone did. We all wanted to get our Zanpakutou as fast as possible.

"Now, to answer Hayate-kun's question, we have to go into what a Zanpakutou is. Hirako-kun, do you know?" Oshiro asked. I opened my mouth to give an answer, but a familiar voice came from behind me.

"They're like swords, right? Only they got powers and appearances that are different dependin' on whose they are. And, like, these funky worlds inside that Shinigami can go into if they want," my brother answered.

"A true prodigy," I muttered, just loud enough for him to hear me.

"Shut up, Narin," Shinji said without missing a beat.

"Hirako-kun! Hirako-chan! Save your squabbles for outside the classroom," Oshiro scolded. "In any event, Hirako-kun has the general idea. But not all Zanpakutou are swords. Banh-kun, do you know why that is?" He asked a tan-skinned boy.

If I'd been interested in Soul Government, I was fascinated by Introduction to Zanpakutou. I soaked up the knowledge offered like a sponge. It was heaven. I was being offered a path to godlike power as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world. So many secrets, so many ideas to play with and discover. Oshiro told us nothing that day that I didn't already know, but the potential that lay in every concept he touched on had my brain spinning. I left grinning stupidly.

"I don't like the look on your face," Shinji said, coming up besides me as I searched my course list for the last class of the day. "You're about to make somethin' go boom, I just know it."

I stuck my tongue out at him. Despite all the allegations to the contrary, I didn't actually care all that much for explosions. Too much collateral damage. Action movies had had my past self cringing. "Am not. But isn't all this crazy?" I nodded at the hallway, full of students who would someday become trained killers with magic powers that Goku would've considered overpowered. "We're going to have swords with the power of our souls someday, Shin. Better hope yours is something cool."

He shouldered me, snorting. "Of course it is. After all, it'll come from my soul."

I shouldered him back. "Look who thinks he's so great. I bet your Zanpakutou spirit's a slug."

"Zanpakutou spirit? You know about those?" Shinji tilted his head at me.

Shit. Was I not supposed to? "I do read, unlike certain morons." I smiled cheekily at him. "Why do you know?"

He shrugged. "Dad, who else? He was tellin' me 'bout great-uncle Youichi and how he got the third seat of the Fifth 'cause his Zanpakutou was, like, this super-strong flaming spear."

"Just third seat?" I asked.

"Right as he was about to get promoted, he up an' died. Zanpakutou spirit was some kind of intense phoenix-thing and Dad thought it just burned him out," Shinji explained. "I'm surprised ya don't know about it, Miss I'd-Make-A-Better-Heir." He narrowly missed smashing into a bearlike upperclassman as he dodged my elbow to the ribs. "I'm just sayin', we wouldn't be main family if uncle Haru hadn't been such a womanizer that the clan elders made him step down. Helped that Dad was more competent to boot."

I vaguely remembered Haru, technically my cousin once removed. Tall even for a Hirako and more solid than most of us, I'd taken note of him as a young child because his eyes were wider than the typical narrow eyes of my clan. So that was why succession had gone a little screwy, huh? He'd have to have been pretty irresponsible for the Hirako to not want him as leader.

"Then there's hope for me yet," I teased. "Listen, I've gotta go to Zanjutsu, but I just wanted to tell you to be nice to Aizen. He's... different, but everybody's weird here."

"He's creepy, that's what he is," Shinji huffed. "I've only seen him eat meat, you know that?"

"Protein, maybe? You should try some," I snapped. Paranoia had clearly kicked in young. "I'm not having this discussion right now, Shinji. Go to class."

Zanjutsu, to my surprise, wasn't as exciting as I'd expected. Mostly we just learned how to handle our shinai and bokken, along with stances. That was fine with me—I needed time to think. Not about Aizen, not about Zanpakutou, just... time to think. About my old life, mostly. I tried to put it out of my mind most days, but talking about souls had gotten me thinking again. What kind of spirit would represent my soul? I'd often entertained the idea that my Zanpakutou spirit would take on the appearance of my old self, but today that struck me as morbid. Maybe Tousen could take up a dead woman's Zanpakutou, but seeing a person that was for all intents and purposes dead in my soul was just too creepy. I hoped it would be humanoid. Easier to understand that way.

When I left Zanjutsu, I had to sprint back across campus for my second Hakuda class of the day. Double Hakuda, I learned, sucked. Not only did Himura put me through the same exhausting regimen that I'd gone through in the morning, he took delight in drilling my blocks until my arms felt like lead pipes. At least none of the other Hakuda teachers wanted help with anything that day. I don't think I could've managed anything more strenuous than calligraphy.

When I finally collapsed into my bed, ignoring Shinju's heavy breathing, I fell into merciful unconsciousness.


	5. A Crane Takes to the Heavens

We didn't get asauchi the next class, or the class after that. Shockingly, first-year students who don't even know how to wield dead blades aren't trusted to wield literally live ones.

At least, that's why I had to tell myself to escape the growing irritation at not having a kick-ass soul weapon. You know, my past self had somehow thought that I'd think of Zanpakutou as being just another part of Shinigami combat. I mean, Kidou were magic spells, Hohou was basically super-speed, and Hakuda was all about beating your opponent into the ground with strength Bruce Lee would envy. Having a sword that was more or less a one-trick pony should've been comparatively minor.

And yet... it wasn't. Maybe it was because Zanpakutou held so much symbolic weight. Even an unseated Shinigami who carried the ugliest asauchi ever was revered. They'd done it, survived Hollows and struggled through Shin'ou and found a place where they belonged. It was like getting your first car, getting accepted into college, and turning eighteen all in one, a symbol of adulthood like no it was because of what Zanpakutou were: weapons formed from your soul. Shikai meant you knew who you were. You could release your Zanpakutou and say, 'This is my soul. This is who I am' and you would be right.

Adults said often enough that we were all just teenagers struggling to find our places in the world and establish an identity for ourselves. Usually I scoffed at that—I was plenty confident in who I was, knew a few kids my age who were the same. But I still wondered. Was I the same person who'd once called another world home? Was I even the same person who'd made a plan to save my new world? Did I even have a soul that could create a Zanpakutou spirit? I had to know. I had to know who I really was, with no room for guessing.

So, of course, I turned to the library. 'Class bookworm' wasn't a title I'd picked up only in this life, after all. I'd been that kid with the pile of books on her desk for quite a few years in my old life. Libraries, in my experience, were generally good places to relax, learn just about anything, and hang out.

The only problem was that my peers didn't agree. Shinji and Shinju both complained for a week straight about their inability to find me when they needed me. Not really my problem, but I ended up telling them that when in doubt, they should check the library. Since they hadn't sought me out yet, I was beginning to think that they'd just given up looking at all.

"Nariko-san?"

I spun around to find Minoru standing there, shuffling his feet. "Oh, hi. Did Shinji or Shinju-san send you to find me?" I tried to smile gently at him. Honestly, I tried. Judging from the way Minoru flinched, I didn't think I'd succeeded. Stupid teeth.

"N-no," he stammered. "I just- I wanted to ask somethin'."

So that was it. I really needed to work on that boy's confidence if he couldn't just come out with it. "Hmm? Fire away."

He squirmed, poor thing. "Y-you know how you was- were tellin' me about kanji a while ago? I figured you know heaps about writin' and that stuff." Minoru gulped, hands clasped tight in front of him. "C-could you maybe learn me a few things?"

I blushed, fiddling with my hakama. He wanted me to teach him? Words were my forte, but technically Japanese wasn't even my first language. Minoru couldn't know that, though. "You don't want to go to a teacher to learn to read?" At the way his face crumpled, I said hastily, "It's not that I don't want to. It's just that I've never tried to teach anyone before. You'd probably be better off with someone who knows those things."

Minoru smiled shakily. "Um, I'm not real keen on teachers. They've prob'ly got better things ta do. And, well, you've been real nice ta me. I figured I should ask you first, and get it done early before we had ta learn even more stuff."

I gaped at him. "You've been going just- just by _memory_?" Even I took notes.

Minoru flushed plum purple. "I'm- I'm tryin' my best!" He declared, fists clenched at his sides. _Sore spot_ , I couldn't help noting for later. "I'm not goin' ta flunk out early on!"

I shook my head, holding my hands up, palms out. "I'm not saying that's a bad thing, Minoru-san. Really, I'm impressed. I'll teach you." _Shit. This puts a bit of a wrench in my plans._ Even if those plans mostly consisted of research projects at the moment. Still, I'd said it and I'd follow through. "Go find a place you feel comfortable studying at and I'll find some materials to study with." I gave him a big smile. It would give me a little time to think about what I'd just undertaken.

He hesitated. "My dorm room? Is that okay?"

I shook my head. "Rules. I can't be in a boys' dorm and you can't be in a girls' dorm." Didn't mean it didn't happen—especially among the upper years—but double Hakuda was grueling enough. I didn't need more punishment.

Minoru frowned. "Then... there's a courtyard near my dorm. Not many people go there. Would- would you mind if we used it?"

"Sure," I replied. "What building are you in?"

"Mitsu Boshi, on the east side," he answered.

"Oh good, not too far. Well, head there and I'll grab some stuff here."

He left, a spring in his step. I blinked after him, then sighed, giving my research materials a longing look. I'd been hoping to learn a little more about the nature of Zanpakutou, but it looked like I'd be a tutor.

 _Well, I can't go my whole time until the exile without any friends,_ I reasoned, scooping up the library scrolls and stashing them in an alcove few visited. Hopefully nobody would need those until I was done with them. _And I did tell Shinji I'd help Minoru through life here._

My mind made up, I set off.

The courtyard Minoru'd chosen was unremarkable, surrounded by a few wizened junipers and moss-covered dogwoods. At least, I thought they were dogwoods—Makoto and I had always tended plants together in my childhood, so I knew the names of a lot, but trees weren't my forte. Unless it was fall or spring, or they were frequently used for bonsai, trees tended to read as the same brown bark and green leaves to me.

"Minoru-san! I brought plenty of paper!" I called to him as soon as I was in earshot.

He jerked before his usual shy smile appeared. "Thanks, Nariko-san. I was gettin' ta thinkin' you'd run off without intendin' ta learn me a thing."

I bit my lip, sitting down besides him. "Hey, I'm a cold delinquent, but I'm a cold delinquent who does what she says she'll do."

Minoru yelped, waving his hands in front of him like I was about to hit him. "I-I didn't say you were a cold delinquent! I didn't!"

I grinned at him, unrolling some paper and weighing it down with a couple rocks. It wasn't a windy day, but better safe than sorry. "Nah, I wouldn't expect you to say that sort of stuff. Himura-sensei does, and I've been getting some looks in the halls, that's all." I bumped shoulders with him. "C'mon, lighten up. It was a joke."

He flushed, scooting away a little. "D-don't tease me like that, Nariko-san." Minoru's eyes flicked to my face, then back away. "Maybe you can afford to be makin' jokes, but that's not so fer me. A guy like me starts pokin' fun at noble girls and he'll get dumped on the street."

"I'm no noble." The words came out of my mouth immediately. I flushed, scrunching my hakama in my hands. It was a stupid statement, one I couldn't explain. You'd think after all my years living here I wouldn't slip like that, but honesty'd always been my nature. "I mean, not really. The Hirako aren't very noble, maybe you've noticed." I rubbed the nape of my neck, trying for a bashful smile. Minoru's frown said he wasn't convinced. I plowed on. "We're a bunch of pranksters that just wear fancy clothes to look noble sometimes."

"You're lendin' me a hand now. Seems pretty noble of ya," Minoru pointed out.

I flapped a hand at him, undoing the latches of my brush case with the other. "I'm the black sheep. Or is it the white sheep? I've never understood that." I stared at the sky, touching a finger to my lips. It made me look silly and harmless, exactly as I intended. Minoru was the sort who didn't let his guard down easily, I could tell by now. But I couldn't let mine down and really befriend him unless he loosened up a bit, so it was better if I didn't act so sharp. "Anyway, let's get started. I'll teach you kana to begin with—hiragana first, since that's more common."

It went better than I'd expect. Minoru had very steady hands, long-fingered and delicate. Probably the only fault I could find in him that wasn't from inexperience was his tendency to grip the brush like it was about to leap out of his hand. But since I was aiming to teach him to read and write, not become an expert calligrapher, that could stay uncorrected.

I called an end to our session once I saw my hand starting to shake. It was a fault of mine that my hands tended to cramp up when I held them in one position for too long. Once they started, I'd have to stop whatever I was doing and return to it later. I couldn't teach Minoru like that. Besides, study sessions that went on for too long ended up overwhelming students. Minoru had a lot to learn, but he couldn't rush through it.

"Alright, that's enough for today. Practice when you've got the time, okay?" I smiled at him, closed-lipped. Couldn't have Minoru thinking I was insincere, right?

Minoru nodded so hard that I thought his head would fall off. "O-of course! I can definitely handle all this!"

He was so eager that I just had to start laughing. "I believe you," I said between giggles. "You seem like a guy who'll try his hardest at everything, Minoru-kun."

He stared at me for a long second. "Minoru...Minoru-kun?" He said after a second, like I'd just told him he was really some Kuchiki prince hidden away at birth.

I flinched, turning pink. "Of course! Minoru-kun! A teacher should be casual with her student, don't you think?" I stuck my nose up in the air, like it hadn't been a slip of the tongue.

Minoru half-smiled. "I guess... If you really want to call me that, I can't stop you. And 'Minoru-san' was too fancy for the likes of me anyway."

"Not like I'd stop if you said no," I said with a grin so he knew I was joking. I had a feeling that Minoru really shouldn't be pushed about social things like that. "I'm not just cold, I'm stubborn, you know. See you around, Minoru-kun!"

I practically dashed away—rude, I know, but I couldn't have talked with him any longer. The world spun around me, nervous as I was from being so outgoing. Had I offended him and he was just too worried about my noble status to show it? Had I made a fool of myself by using such a casual honorific after knowing him for only a couple weeks?

 _Stupid._ _It's no use worrying about that sort of thing. What's done is done and you can make up for it later if you have to. Don't go doubting Minoru's honesty._

I returned to the library after that. My homework was all done—nothing strenuous yet, the teachers were easing us into life at Shin'ou. With that in mind, I'd started in on my own projects pretty quickly.

It was... slower going than I was used to. Back home our library was much smaller, or at least the part I was allowed to enter was smaller. A con of living with a clan of spymasters: a lot of information in the clan library was taken from espionage. Kids weren't allowed to access any of that, so I'd been pretty much confined to novels, poetry, and the most basic information about spiritual power. Here, where there were next to no rules about what students could read, I was swamped with way more knowledge than I'd ever had in my life. Wading through it all was a chore.

Still, there was plenty of information on Zanpakutou. Even for weapons that were wildly varied, people throughout Soul Society's history had tried to catalog common features. The categories of abilities were obvious—there were only two, after all, melee and Kidou. Some people said elemental Zanpakutou were a sub-category in the Kidou-type class. I didn't read much of what those people wrote—they tended to rave about the power of fire-type Zanpakutou way too much for my liking. Sorry, Yamamoto and Hinamori, but scorched flesh and charred corpses didn't appeal to me at all.

I rolled up another scroll with a sigh. Had this one come from the shelf I was looking at, or the next one over? Well, whatever. I couldn't find an open space in front of me, so it had to be the next shelf. I rounded the corner and met with something almost as solid as the wood shelf. I squeaked, stumbling back.

Aizen's surprised face greeted me as I looked up. Of course. _Can't I get a break from my classmates?_ I put on a smile anyway. "Hi, Aizen-kun. Ah, I mean Aizen-san. Sorry, I've been using the wrong honorifics all day." I rubbed the back of my neck, glancing away.

"Oh, Hirako-san. I didn't think anyone else was back here." Aizen shuffled his feet, Minoru-like. I was starting to get sick of all the shrinking violets around here. "It doesn't matter what you call me, really."

"Yes, it does." For the second time that day, words popped out of my mouth without my thinking them. "I won't call you something rude. And you're not the kind of guy who reaches that point easily, are you?" It was a rhetorical question. Adult Aizen had called Shinji 'Captain Hirako' long after Shinji's exile. It was blatantly obvious that Aizen let go of formalities only when pushed to his absolute limit. I was pretty similar to him in that respect. Honorifics and rank stood out to me like neon signs, helping me navigate this rigid-yet-chaotic society. I almost couldn't wait for the Living World, where I wouldn't have to memorize eight million rules for polite interaction.

Aizen didn't pick up on the rhetorical part of my question, shaking his head. "I prefer not to rush so quickly into things. I think you understand that, though. Apart from that conflict with Yamada-senpai, you don't seem as impulsive as your brother."

I couldn't help the started laugh that burst out of me. Maybe it was because knowing who Aizen would become had me constantly nervous, but his kindness was surprising. _Remember, it's an act._ "I'm only stupid like that when I don't have time to think," I assured him with a sheepish smile. "Shinji, on the other hand... what'd he do now?" I released my best dramatic sigh.

"Nothing," Aizen said immediately. My eyes narrowed. Hard to say whether that was true or not. He shifted his grip on his scroll. "Just something I've seen. I can't imagine him being in the library, either."

I grimaced. "Yeah. We didn't have any brawn to inherit, but I think Shinji got the street smarts and I got the book smarts. So I figured I should play to my strengths, right?" I held up my scroll, labeled with a red band to denote its subject. "Do you have much interest in Zanpakutou, Aizen-san?"

Aizen's eyes fixed on the scroll in my hand, laser-like. "Yes, quite a bit. I was wondering where all the scrolls on Zanpakutou had gone. Would I be right in saying that you took them?" A small smile played over his features.

"Not all of them!" I protested, unable to hide my own guilty smile. I glanced at the white band on his scroll. "And you're reading about... Hollows? And history," I added, spotting a second, green-banded scroll tucked into his obi. The kanji on the scroll's cap marked it as from Soul Society's earliest history.

Aizen's smile dimmed. "Yes. Even more than Zanpakutou, Hollows are a... personal interest of mine."

Pieces clicked together. Aizen's awkwardness and tension around people, his look when I mentioned Makoto, his study of Hollows... I was so stupid. "I'm sorry," I said after a second of being mortified. My whole face was hot. "I didn't... what was she like?"

Aizen's stare dropped to his waraji. "An ordinary woman. She worked hard to support herself... but we weren't all that close. I heard about her passing from others." His face tightened with pain.

I hastily changed the subject. _Shouldn't have asked, stupid!_ "Do... do you want to study Zanpakutou a little with me? My roommate—Fujikage-san, you remember—doesn't have much interest in the library, like Shinji. It'd be nice to have someone else who appreciates knowledge."

Aizen bit down on his lip so hard that I was amazed when he didn't draw blood. For a long minute he didn't answer, eyes darting back and forth as though he was debating with two people I couldn't see. I had to wonder what had transformed this awkward, uncertain boy into the suave, arrogant Aizen I remembered. Maybe it was gaining Kyouka Suigetsu—several sources spoke of Shinigami who became more self-confident after Shikai, though for most it was before.

"I-I'll study with you," he said finally. "We could compare notes or something."

A broad smile broke out on my face. It wasn't much, but it was a step towards friendship and maybe averting his betrayal. "That's great!" Then, so I didn't seem too eager, I added, "Um, I'll show you where I stashed the Zanpakutou scrolls. I've been taking a lot of notes on them."

I led him to my makeshift workspace in the back of the library. Most of the short-legged tables back there were dusty with disuse—this part of the library wasn't quite as well-lit, and most information students needed was closer to the front of the library anyway. The only reason I had set up camp there was because some of my work was in English. I rolled up that scroll hastily and banded it up. I gestured to my public notes on Zanpakutou and the scrolls strewn haphazardly across the table.

"See, it's all pretty organized. I've got a section on famous Zanpakutou, melee vs. Kidou-type Zanpakutou, release incantations, even why Zanpakutou take so long to manifest. There's not much on that last one, but it's still interesting. Says a lot about how Zanpakutou spirits work, at least." I stopped. I was no Shinji, unable (or unwilling) to read the air, but sometimes I fell back into old habits and barreled on despite the situation. I was boring Aizen, clearly. "Sorry, sorry, I'm rambling again. Have a seat."

Together we knelt at the table. Aizen's eyes got wider and wider as they looked at the sheer volume of notes I'd taken. It was a futile attempt at understanding Zanpakutou better; I'd thought that maybe if I wrote down what I knew I'd have a miraculous breakthrough. To be fair, that had happened before, just not in this life.

"Tell me if anything's hard to read," I said as the silence stretched on. "My handwriting's bad. Unless I'm practicing calligraphy, then, well... I'll shut up."

"It's fine," Aizen said absently, not looking up at me. "I can understand it." He did glance up then, eyes clear behind the smoky lenses. "You seem really convinced of some of this. Do you have a relative in the Gotei 13 who's taught you about Zanpakutou? Is that how you're so sure?"

I frowned, leaning forwards to get a better look at the section he was on. "No, no one in my immediate family. I just..." I scrambled for words that would explain how I knew so much about Zanpakutou. The truth wouldn't cut it. "It makes sense," I said lamely. "Some of it clicks. The stuff that doesn't click, I check with other writers. There's a star by the stuff that checks out if I disagree with it." I tapped a star besides a particular string of kanji. "Right here, I'm not sure about elemental Zanpakutou being restricted to one element. Some ice-types can control ice and water, even if it's mainly ice. But a lot of sources say that's true, so I want to see some in action and make sure."

Aizen hummed, eyes flicking over that line. "Hmm, that sounds right. But usually the water is quickly turned to ice. Is it really control?"

Interesting. A different opinion? Minoru'd been content to go along with what I said—though admittedly he didn't know much to contradict me. "Well, some of them have to summon water, from clouds or ponds or such. I think that's control enough."

Aizen shrugged, lacing his fingers together. "I guess. But if only ice-types can do it, and only some ice-types, then it's generally true that Zanpakutou can only use one element. Or else fire-types and ice-types would really be the same, wouldn't they? They both affect heat. And why not have a Zanpakutou with all the elemental powers?"

"Because of what they are." The answer was so obvious that I couldn't believe I had to say it. "Zanpakutou come from your soul. All your flaws, all your virtues, every part of the way you think influences a Zanpakutou." I hesitated, looking for something I could use to back my words up. I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear and said, "To go with fire- and ice-type Zanpakutou, they're too different. Fire is... I guess it's kinda outgoing. Cooking food, warming people, burning wood, there's no way it can avoid affecting the world. Heat radiates outward. And then ice is more passive and introverted. People sculpt snow, use ice to cool off, break ice so it doesn't break other stuff. It's doesn't act on people as much as people act on it." Even though I knew science here wasn't advanced enough that he'd understand completely, I added, "Cold pulls in heat."

"But that doesn't explain why someone can't have both," Aizen reminded me. True, I hadn't gotten around to that yet.

"You need a certain kind of soul to get a fire-type sword, and another kind to get an ice-type," I told him. "Your soul... I think it has to be distinctive enough to get such an extreme power in the first place. Someone who didn't think too much like a fire-user or an ice-user would get neither, not both." I hesitated again. If I told Aizen part of why someone couldn't be omnipotent, would he use it against me later? "I hate fire," I admitted after a few seconds. "Just seeing hot pans makes me nervous. And I don't really like being out in the cold either. So my Zanpakutou could never be ice- or fire-type. People are like that, you know? They have preferences. Someone who kills every plant they try to grow couldn't have a plant-type, and..." I trailed off. "You get it, right? I know I talk too much."

"'You can't be everything.' That's what you're trying to say," Aizen said. "A tiger can't be a mouse. A Hollow can't be a Shinigami." His expression hardened briefly at the mention of Hollows. _You won't get far here if you can't get over that._ A hot knife of shame stabbed through me. _Mean. You can't expect him to get over personal troubles like that quickly._

I pasted on a bright smile to hide my thoughts. "Exactly! Opposing natures and all. Sometimes, sometimes they can coexist." Like the Visoreds. "But it's not always... right." _Like the Arrancar._ "Usually-"

"I have to go." Aizen stood, almost knocking the table over in his haste. I hadn't noticed that he was sick, but all of a sudden he was pale and sweating. Aizen shoved his tinted glasses further up his nose. "Thanks for all this, Hirako-san. You meant well." He flash-stepped off, accompanied by that weird buzz. No, maybe there was no buzz. I couldn't hear much over the rustle of disturbed paper.

I sighed, rocking back on my heels. Just when I'd been getting somewhere, Aizen went all weird on me again. Why were all the men in my life so weird?

 _Because you are?_ A voice in my head snarked.

 _Shut up, self,_ I snarked back. Well, that wasn't promising for when I got my Zanpakutou. I didn't know if I could handle a Zanpakutou that was constantly sarcastic with me.

 _Hypocrite,_ the voice snarked one last time.

Yeah, I probably was. But I'd deal with that when my Zanpakutou turned up.

If it turned up.

"Move!"

I moved.

The speaker wasn't Seinosuke, or an impatient upperclassman, or even my brother. Even better: my Hakuda teacher, Himura Kyou. And unlike my fellow students, I couldn't blow my top at him, no matter how angry I was.

At the moment I wasn't angry, just frustrated. I couldn't manage a good spinning back kick to save my life.

"Move!"

I moved.

"Hirako, don't you think you should be doing push-ups right about now?" Himura towered above me, muscle-corded arms folded in front of him.

 _Probably, if you're saying something about it._ Aloud, I said, "My mistake, Himura-sensei?"

"You'd be doing push-ups right now if you realized it!" He barked. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from flinching. Rule number one in Himura's dojo: don't show fear. Rule number two... you guessed it: do push-ups when you've made a mistake. "Kick right in the solar plexus, girl! We aren't aiming to kneecap the opponent!"

I bowed from the waist. "Yessir."

Five push-ups later, I was back in position to do another spinning back kick. Five push-ups might not seem like much punishment, but here they added up real fast.

Today was one of those days where I couldn't catch a break. I needed to have a nice long chat with Oshiro about my Zanpakutou theories. Hell, I just needed to chat with anyone who had a Zanpakutou.

Instead, Oshiro had been sick. We'd been left to work on a paper about a famous Zanpakutou of our choice. Stupidly, I'd chosen Ryuujin Jakka. The choice in and of itself wasn't stupid—okay, yes it was. There was no way to defend it. Ryuujin Jakka had a huge history and vague abilities—unless you counted 'produce a shit-ton of fire' as a specific ability. I'd undertaken a mammoth project. My library haven would have to wait.

"Hirako! Kick straight! None of that curving nonsense from your clan style!"

"Yessir." More pushups. _Damn you, muscle memory._ If I'd been the sort to gamble, I would've bet that my classmates were getting sick of hearing Himura disciplining me.

When we were finally let out, I could feel the bruises beginning to form. _Note to self: learn healing Kidou._ it was a fairly petty reason to learn, but it would probably pay off eventually. If Hachi, with all the darkness that had to be coiling through his power, could heal, I could heal. No, that was a dumb comparison. Hachi was a Kidou master. I... was probably never going to be. _Note to self: stop comparing yourself to canon characters._

"Hey, Hirako-chan! Hirako-chan!" I turned to see Shinju and Shinji bounding towards me. I wasn't quite sure when I'd graduated to 'Hirako-chan,' but I'd take it.

"Finally, I get to see you out of the library," Shinju exclaimed, smiling brightly.

"That's not true," I retorted with a frown. "You see me at lunch and in our room."

"That's true," Shinji broke in, tapping his chin with one long finger. "So think of how I must feel! Yer brother, only seein' ya every so often at lunch. So cruel, Nari-nee. Your Zanpakutou's going to be some awful poison dagger."

"And I bet yours is going to be something awful and stinky, something that turns everything upside-down," I said, kicking at his shins. Shinji hopped out of reach. "You're certainly good enough at turning the conversation around, right back to you."

"Hirako-chan! That was mean." Shinju frowned at me. "Not a good day?" Bless Shinju, she usually tried to give me the benefit of the doubt. Too bad I wasn't in the mood for it today.

"I'm fine," I snapped.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and say it's Hakuda, mixed with a little Zanpakutou, and a dash of Aizen," Shinji said wisely. I scowled at him.

"Stop blaming Aizen-san for everything, Shinji," I grumbled. "He gets Zanpakutou better than you."

Shinju blinked at me as we took our seats for lunch. "Well, there's no accounting for taste..." She murmured.

"It's not like that!" I snapped, smoothing out my hakama. "Since apparently he and I are the only ones who are trying to learn more than what Shin'ou spoon-feeds us, we were studying together the other day. That's. All."

"Jeez, somebody's in a right foul mood," Shinji grumbled. "But it is Hakuda?"

I took a deep breath, released it as a shuddering sigh. "Yeah. I can't get my spinning back kick down and Himura-sensei was on my case about it," I admitted. "Sorry for snapping. I keep spinning and thinking I'm gonna do a hook kick, but it's a back kick and... ugh. Be glad you don't have him."

Shinji's smirk softened. "Yeah, I lucked out with Takenaka. But hey, most at our Hakuda level get Takenaka or Higa. Maybe Himura's the sort that's just real picky 'bout who he takes as a student? Then you'll learn some special technique and get aheada me, ha."

I poked my tongue out at him. "Very funny. Nah, I think he's just a jerk. There's always one."

Shinju glanced between us, sighing. "Wow, second-level Hakuda? You two must have some talent if you're a year above the rest of us."

"Not talent," I said before Shinji could get puffed up, shaking my head. "We're under the Shihouin, and our clan starts training early to boot. That's all."

Shinji pouted. "Aww, Nari-nee, why'dja have ta spoil it? I'm happy to get praised by a pretty girl." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "But she's right, Fujikage-chan." _Fujikage_ -chan? _When had that happened?_ "Our da started teachin' us the second we could walk."

She smiled, brushing her hair out of her face. "Well, that makes me feel a bit better. I think my skills will run more towards Hohou...or Zanjutsu...or Kidou. Anything that's not Hakuda," Shinju confessed. "Punching and kicking things doesn't suit me."

 _Does anything suit you?_ The second the thought went through my head, I felt bad for thinking it. But at the same time, it was a little true. Though a good part of all the zankensoki required little more than hard work and practice, the higher-level techniques required large reiryoku reserves. While training at Shin'ou, our reiryoku reserves would improve, especially with Shikai, but as adult Aizen had said, souls could only contain so much potential without Hollowfication. I'd felt out Shinju's power as subtly as I could and it was noticeably lower even than mine—though if you listened to Shinji's flattery, which I didn't, my power was decently high anyway. To top it all off, Shinju hadn't read Bleach and wasn't the sort of person who could learn to be brutal or crafty. When trouble really came...

No, I was thinking too much about raw power, I decided as we rose to go get our food. Shinju would make a fine low-seated officer and could probably climb at least a few seats higher by virtue of her diligence and calm demeanor. When we took Administrative Abilities in seventh year, Shinju would probably excel. The military always valued people who could keep order. Or hey, maybe she could do well in the Fourth.

Aizen showed up late, as usual, though for once he had someone—Minoru, I saw as they came closer—with him. They must've bumped into each other—I couldn't imagine that either one would seek out someone they barely knew. In that respect, Minoru was slightly friendlier than Aizen, but as I'd seen in the library Aizen had zero qualms about straight-up leaving when he wasn't comfortable with someone.

"I've been practicin' like ya said ta," Minoru said by way of greeting when they had their food, face alight. I blinked before remembering what he was referring to.

"Good!" I told him, smile spreading over my face. "It's all about practice, same as the zankensoki." Uneasiness squirmed in me with the words. Was it giving him false hope to say that? _Stupid._ _It's just one comment. Don't go believing in the butterfly effect._

"Zankensoki?" Minoru tilted his head at me, a piece of tofu halfway to his mouth.

"The four Shinigami arts," Aizen said, earning stares from the rest of us. He shifted in his seat, but continued. "It's easier to say than to list off Hakuda, Kidou, Hohou, and Zanjutsu. 'Zan' is for Zanjutsu, 'Ken' is for Hakuda, 'So' is for Hohou, and 'Ki' is for Kidou."

"They should put in a 'Kon' for the Zanpakutou," I commented. "You know, because Zanpakutou are 'soul-cutting swords,'" I added for Minoru's benefit. The way the kanji for soul was read was different enough that it wasn't likely that he'd pick up on it. "They're important enough that we've got classes on them, so why not?"

Shinji rolled his eyes. "So you're still stuck on that? She wouldn't leave me be about it back home," he told our tablemates. "'Shinji, how d'ya get an asauchi?' 'Shinji, Shinji, Shinji.' It was right annoyin', 'specially since I didn't know either."

I kicked him under the bench. Over his yelps I said, "They're why Shinigami are so powerful. That's pretty major. Just a little bit. So you should pay more respect."

"T'what?" Shinji replied, scowling as he reached down to rub his shin. "I don't even got one jus' yet."

"So?" I said, spearing a chunk of tofu. It was bad manners, but I was too irritated to care. Shinji had to learn not to be flippant all the time somehow. "None of us have met Captain-Commander Yamamoto, but nobody's stupid enough to disrespect him."

"I have to agree with both of you a little," Shinju spoke up. She swallowed a mouthful of rice. "I mean, the Captain-Commander's a physical person. We all have a cousin's friend's brother who's met him. Zanpakutou... they're swords. They're weapons with our powers, aren't they? It's not the same. But really, there's no point in being rude either way."

"I agree with Nariko-san," Minoru said, staring at his hands. "They're our badges of office, right? So we gotta give them the respect they deserve." He was right, just for the wrong reasons. I could see the soul-deep desire for prestige in his eyes, probably the source of his reasoning. He'd get shaken out of it when we went over Zanpakutou spirits in Introduction to Zanpakutou.

"I agree with Nariko-san also," Aizen said. "Zanpakutou are the most important part of being a Shinigami." There was something funny in Aizen's eyes too, harder to read because of his tinted lenses. Similar to Minoru, there was a hunger in his eyes. For what, I didn't know.

 _Yes, you do_ , the part of my brain reserved for Before reminded me. _He wants to be God._

 _And right now he's a teenage boy whose mother died and probably has nothing to go back to,_ the part of my brain that dealt with the here and now snapped back.

Shinji opened his mouth. Before he could say something that would set off the future-psycho at our table, I kicked him so hard my toes ached. As Shinji rubbed both his legs, I glanced over to see Shinju grinning. We high-fived. _Maybe she can take my place as Shinji-minder._

The rest of the week went like that—Hakuda stressing me out, Oshiro out sick, and alternately tutoring Minoru and studying with Aizen. I should've found tutoring Minoru more rewarding—good deeds made you feel good, I'd learned—but I liked my study sessions better. Aizen was prone to leaving randomly, true, but he offered thoughts that never would've occurred to me. It was refreshing to have someone who challenged my thinking without being rude about it. I doubted Aizen even knew how to be rude to anyone, though. He keep everyone at a distance too much to know what it felt like to get mad at someone.

Too bad for him that I'd break down his guard, one way or another.

I staggered into Introduction to Zanpakutou one day to find Oshiro finally there, looking like death warmed over. He was not smiling. The complete silence of the classroom, broken only by the warning bells going off in my head, signaled that it would be a very bad idea to ask how he was feeling. I took my usual seat in front of Shinji gingerly.

"Class." Only traces of Oshiro's usual cheer remained in his voice, hoarse and cracked. I winced. He'd been—still was—really sick. Hopefully nothing serious. "Today we'll be going to the Mizuchi courtyard. As soon as you have completed your activity there, you will go to the Hou-ou courtyard by the Waki Boshi dormitory. I will arrive shortly after you, I expect." He rose and we rose with him, filing out in complete silence. No one knew what was going on. No one cared. When a teacher told you to do something, you did it. No questions.

Except, of course, for the silent one I asked Shinji, catching his gaze as we stood. _What's going on?_

A tiny shake of his head. _I don't know._

If Shinji didn't know, I wasn't going to find out. Certainly not on the walk to Mizuchi.

I ended up somewhere at the back of the pack of students. It was a combination of my own laziness and common sense. Oshiro was acting weird. We were going to a place I hadn't been before. If Soul Society had bred Aizen, I was going to maintain a little bit of wariness with any other kind, mild-mannered person who started acting weirdly. The fact that I didn't feel much incentive to walk quickly helped.

The instant I set foot in the courtyard, my sense of reiatsu began to scream. Whatever was in that courtyard was Very Old, Very Strong, and Very Dangerous. And yes, it—or rather, they, since there was a slight pulse that suggested life—deserved every one of those capitals. I hunched my shoulders and started to breathe through my mouth, trying both to minimize the places that raw, metallic power—like iron ore—pressed on me and get more air in my lungs. I sneaked a glance at Oshiro and saw him gazing steadily at whoever was waiting for us. His back was straight, hands fisted in his hakama, but there was no fear on his face. I tentatively extended my reiatsu towards him and felt in his power—subtle, flowing, and mesmerizing, ink dropped in water—envy, but no ill intent. I stepped out of the pack to see this mysterious person.

To my dismay, I had no clue who this guy was. And I should've, I really should've. He was dark-skinned, even more so than Love, with the thickest, curliest black hair I'd ever seen down to his shoulders. I had to wonder how long it was when he took a shower. Although he wore a shihakushou, meaning he couldn't be a teacher, Curly-Hair had customized it with puffy, elbow-length lime wrist warmers, matching socks, and gold-rimmed glasses that were so dark-tinted I doubted he could see. My eyes narrowed when they reached his waist. No Zanpakutou?

What kind of guy was crazy strong, outrageously dressed, and wouldn't carry a-

Oh.

 _Oh._

I was going to have to do a lot more studying if I wanted to be the lieutenant of the Twelfth. With the kind of stupidity I'd just shown, even if no one had seen it, I'd be unseated. Moron. Especially if I was being stupid in the area I was supposed to be so good at.

See, the guy I was looking at, the guy who'd started laughing his ass off the second he'd seen our bunch, he was Nimaiya Ouetsu. Otherwise known as Toushin, 'God of the Sword.' He invented Zanpakutou. If I'd been in a cartoon, my cheeks would've been bulging with all the questions I wanted to ask. Weirdly, it was obvious that only Oshiro knew who he was looking at. Wakahisa Momohiko—aka the heir apparent to the Third Great Noble House—looked little more than bored. Then again, the Royal Guard didn't make house calls.

"Children. Form a line, please," Oshiro said. There was something similar to but more than curiosity in his scraped-raw voice. Desire, that was it. Not for Ouetsu, I was fairly certain, but for his knowledge. Made sense, given Oshiro's profession. Ouetsu was basically the ultimate Introduction to Zanpakutou teacher.

"Form a line? Hah! Man, it's killin' me how formal ya are, Oshiro," Nimaiya laughed—no, guffawed. His whole frame, sprawled in front of a large white tent, shook with laughter. "Eh, well. Better that y'all give your asauchi the respect they're due. They're basically you, after all."

Asauchi? My reiatsu joined the other students' in flaring with surprise and excitement. We were finally getting our Zanpakutou!

Well, whoever was at the front of the line was, anyway. Nimaiya led them—I caught a flash of peach-colored hair that might've been Hayate—into the tent. I had again miscalculated and wound up smack in the middle. Con of being a soul from another universe: I hadn't inherited the Hirako willingness to step on a few toes to get where I wanted to go.

As I waited, my mind buzzed with ideas. Could I ask Nimaiya any questions while I was in that tent? Should I confess my real origins? Would he even give me a Zanpakutou if I did? Would it change anything about my asauchi? Did he just hand over a blade, just like that? My whole future, casual as if it were just an inkstone?

I forced myself to be calm, concentrating on keeping my breathing deep and rhythmic until my heartbeat slowed. This is a solemn, important occasion, I reminded myself. Show respect.

Unfortunately, my brain didn't get the message. Soon enough, I was noticing the musky, sweet scent of the lilac trees around the courtyard, the heat baking my skin until I was sure it was as golden as Shinji's hair, anything that wasn't the situation I was in. I sighed, but let my mind wander. I'd be a ball of energy and stress if I dwelled on the Zanpakutou master right in front of me. Wait, right in front of me? I blinked rapidly, realizing that I was looking into dark-tinted glasses.

"Hey, girlie, it's kinda your turn. Man, they don't make cadets like they used to anymore," he chuckled. "C'mon."

"Yes, Nimaiya-sama," I said, fighting to keep my voice and face humble.

Turning back to his tent's entrance, Ouetsu froze. Oops. Looked like his identity was not public knowledge. After a second, though, he tapped the black cord tying the tent flaps together. The mind-bendingly complex knot it formed fell apart and he ducked inside. I hurriedly followed suit, the flaps tying back together after me.

The tent was refreshingly cool, despite the stillness of the air inside. It was also far bigger on the inside than it appeared. Racks of mounted swords surrounded me. A desk, just like the ones we used in school, sat at the center. Compared to the huge tent and the show-stealing Nimaiya, it was almost depressingly average. But then, Nimaiya was technically a smith, even if he was a smith who deserved his 'God of Swords' title. His palace probably wasn't ornate compared to, say, that many-armed Royal Guard lady.

Nimaiya turned to face me. "Well, girlie, how is it ya know my name? 'Cause I've got a friend and usually he's the only one who's that good at guessing."

I pressed my lips together, squirming uneasiness inside me. How could I explain what I thought was obvious? "You're strong. Captain-class. And you deal with asauchi. Zanpakutou are a special interest of mine." I shrugged, as though it was a casual statement. "I do my research. 'God of the Sword,' Royal Guard member Nimaiya Ouetsu. That's you, right?"

The edge of his reiatsu tightened. "Man, I just can't believe what you're saying, girlie. I'm pretty sure I'm not in any of the books you're allowed access to."

It was my turn to freeze before a idea that was probably better than the 'I read about it' angle popped into my head. "You don't spend much time in Soul Society, do you? I'm a Hirako. It's our business to know stuff people want hidden."

He snorted. "Can't argue with that. The last one of you I knew had his nose in everybody's business too. Alright, then. C'mere and we can get down to business. I don't bite. Much."

I walked towards him without hesitation, sinking a pinch of reiryoku into my mental circle to shield myself from the press of his reiatsu. There was nothing actively threatening about Nimaiya's power. It was strong, intimidating, and impersonal, like a mountain. Which explained a little of why no one had remarked on his reiatsu. It was just there.

The second I was within reach, his hand was on my chest. White-hot heat flooded me, but my heartbeat returned after a few seconds when I realized that he wasn't actually doing anything. His hand was just pressed there, firm and steady, like he was trying to feel my heartbeat. We stood there for a few minutes before he withdrew, reiatsu soft-edged in the way I'd come to associate with confusion from observing my classmates. Soon enough it smoothed, though.

"I was wondering who'd have that one," he murmured.

"What's wrong with my asauchi?" I asked, heart in my throat.

He grinned. "Don't get your hakama all knotted. There's nothing wrong with it. I wonder that 'bout every one of my blades. Kinda like when you're brewing sake, and you wonder if your guests are gonna get the full experience out of it, taste all the notes, or just get drunk and spend the night throwing up. Up to them, not you, though."

I nodded, breathing shallow. He couldn't have chosen a better analogy for my clan. "Oh. Okay."

"'Oh. Okay,'" he mimicked in a squeaky tone, casting his glance around. "That all you've got to say about the blade for your soul, girlie? If you're really a Zanpakutou nerd, you should know the potential in that asauchi!"

I flushed, but got no opportunity to say anything more. Nimaiya set off through the racks of swords and I followed dutifully.

The swords around me were pretty, but... there wasn't much to them. It was like looking at a picture of fire: nice-looking, but missing the heat, the smoke, the crackle of burning wood, everything that set fire apart from a particularly large light bulb. Everything that made a Zanpakutou a Zanpakutou wasn't there. I extended my reiatsu as subtly as I could and recoiled. Normally reiatsu was a little like light, or maybe wind—it bounced off and moved around the target without intent behind it, giving you a sense for the target, as I'd learned through bored-stiff experiments in Reiryoku Manipulation.

Asauchi, though, defied me. They were blank, reflecting only traces of my power and giving me no sense of their inner workings. I shuddered, a wave of nausea flooding me. How could something with the potential to contain an entire world be so flat?

"A curious little birdie, aren't you, girlie? Peck-peck-pecking away at the asauchi," Nimaiya said.

I flushed, pulling my reiatsu back under my skin again. "Sorry. They- they're alive, but they're not... I wanted to know."

He took a right turn, almost clipping a rack. "Don't be so apologetic, girlie! There's ambition in you, no matter how much you try and hide it. You'll get a hella weak Zanpakutou if you're all mixed-up like that. But still, don't be examining other asauchi. Gotta make sure they take to the people they're meant for, y'know?"

"Yes, Nimaiya-sama," I said, nodding even though he couldn't see it.

He snorted, but said nothing, coming to a halt in front of a particularly crowded rack. "Can you guess, girlie? Which one's yours?"

"No," I said honestly. Every blade looked identical, black hilt-wrappings and round metal guards in black sheathes. My stomach churned ominously. Well, this explains why Shinigami don't just force their reiryoku on an asauchi. If I touch these things again, I'll be sick, no question.

"Straight-forward and coy. Better iron yourself out, girlie, or at least reconcile them both," Nimaiya said. He selected one sword and turned, resting it in his massive, rough-skinned blacksmith's hands. "Well, what're you waiting for, girlie? You know what this is, don'tcha?"

I gulped. I couldn't possibly screw up taking a sword, but something in me was terrified that I'd handle it wrong. Or drop it. Or- Shut up, self. Just take it. With shaking hands, I reached out and scooped up the asauchi, resting it on my palms like he had. The nausea eased as the best feeling in the world settled in me.

Take the thing you love doing the most and combine it with the greatest achievement you've ever had and settling into your bed after a day of hard work. Then mix in a dash of coming home after being away for a week. Finish with getting a hug from whoever you love most. There. You've got the idea of what I felt, holding that asauchi. No room for fear for the future. I had my asauchi. I could do this.

My manners came back in a rush. I bowed as deeply as I could without falling over. "Thank you, Nimaiya-sama."

He stared down at me for a long second, then smiled broadly. "Wield it well, girlie."

My answering grin was huge. "I will, Toushin."

He flapped his hand at me and led me back to his desk, where long scrolls waited. Nimaiya dipped his brush in his ink and glanced up. "Your name, girlie?"

If he hadn't been so friendly and so powerful, I would've told him to stop calling me that. As it was, I couldn't muster enough bravery and irritation to do it. "Hirako Nariko," I answered. "Written as 'flat child' and 'hard-working child.'"

He chuckled, brush adding my name to an entry in his list. I squinted, but couldn't make out the kanji written there. "You didn't luck out, did ya, girlie? Okay, then. Let's get you back to the real world."

I poked my tongue out at him, then pulled it back, hoping he hadn't seen. It was true, according to the Hirako naming custom I hadn't done so well, I mused as he walked me through the racks of asauchi. See, our clan thought we were the funniest people on the planet, so kids didn't just get meaningful names, we got ironic names. My father Kenji? He was born to sit in his study and manage clan revenue, not hold a sword. Shinji's a born liar. Thankfully for her, my mom was born in the Matsumura clan. Wouldn't it suck to have your parents hope that you'd turn out fickle and treacherous? Me, apparently my parents had thought I'd be a lazy child. I got the suckiest name of all.

Nimaiya stopped right in front of the tent flaps. "Girlie? We won't be seeing each other again, so I'll give you a piece of advice: your teachers now, and your superiors if you make it into the Gotei 13, they're gonna want a hard-hitting weapon outta you and they'll try and make you the sort of person who forms one. Don't let them succeed. I didn't invent Zanpakutou so a bunch of bureaucrats could create cookie-cutter soldiers with them. Be the kind of person whose soul shakes things up, yeah?"

Nimaiya didn't wait around for my reply, stepping out of the tent. I blinked as the heat and sunlight returned, then nearly jumped a foot as he bellowed, "Next victim!" As my feet carried me away in a daze, I heard him laughing again. "Just kidding, but man, that was some look on your face," he said, voice fading as I got further away.

I left the courtyard and headed for Hou-ou. We still had class time, so we had to be doing something, and I was not doing schoolwork in my free time. Unfortunately, when I reached what I thought was the Hou-ou courtyard, not a single person was there. Oops. Sighing, I went back the way I'd come to ask Oshiro where it was.

When I rounded the corner, I saw Oshiro and Nimaiya standing in front of the tent. No other students remained. I frowned, taking a step forwards before their voices reached me. I stepped back, letting a low-hanging lilac branch obscure me. It was rude to eavesdrop, but I just needed to ask where I was supposed to go when there was a break in conversation.

"...would be beneficial if their teacher was in there with them," Oshiro was saying, voice tense. Bullshit, was my immediate thought. These kids were too ignorant to know who they were looking at. And whether they'd woken in the deep Rukongai or they'd been born to a Kuchiki lady with Unohana on call, it was pretty likely that they were all used to meeting new people and never seeing them again. Then again, I hadn't heard the beginning of the sentence, so maybe I was misunderstanding?

"Man, if they're grown enough to pass the entrance exam, they're grown enough to stand walking in there with a stranger to find their asauchi," Nimaiya replied. A facade of jovialness hung around him, but even from a distance I could read the tightness in his shoulders. This was a conversation they'd had before.

Oshiro tried a different tack. "I teach them about Zanpakutou, Nimaiya-dono. Shouldn't I be allowed to see each year's batch?"

Nimaiya's reiatsu shifted, ore to molten metal. "How did you get your position, man? Even that little piano-teeth girl, Koko, or whatever her name was, she got that Zanpakutou are living beings, not mass-produced hunks of metal." Was it possible to beam with pride and flush with embarrassment at the same time? If so, I did. He couldn't even get my name right, but he remembered me all the same. "Sorry, man, but I forge kids' futures. You've already got the task of shaping how they think about their souls. Don't go trying to pry into their souls."

"I'm not prying-" Oshiro began.

"It's a milestone to be reached privately, Oshiro. Sorry, but that's final. The only people I trust to be among the asauchi are myself and the people I'm giving them to," Nimaiya said firmly. "Now, don't you have a class to teach?" Dismissal rang through his voice, but Oshiro stood there for a second longer before bowing low and saying something I couldn't make out to Nimaiya. Nimaiya just laughed, turning and walking back to his tent.

 _What was that all about?_ I was all for teachers trying to instruct their students better, but Nimaiya had clearly had a dim view of whatever Oshiro was asking for. I got the whole privacy thing, but it was Oshiro who was asking, not Ounabara. I couldn't see him being too threatening. Then again, Nimaiya did know all there was to know about Zanpakutou. Maybe it was key to asauchi functioning properly? But then, I'd gotten little more than chastisement when I'd examined other asauchi. Ugh, this was all too-

"Hirako-chan?" Oshiro said, eyebrows lifted in mixed worry and surprise.

-confusing. _Note to self: stop getting lost in thought._ "Oshiro-sensei! I didn't mean to barge in. I kinda got lost and wound up in the wrong courtyard, so I figured I'd retrace my steps and ask you where Hou-ou was." I rubbed the nape of my neck, heat staining my cheeks as I recounted the tale. It was more embarrassing when I said it out loud.

His expression shuttered briefly, but then his smile was back. "Oh, my mistake. I thought everyone knew where it was. Let's you and I walk there together, then."

Turned out I'd gone to the wrong side of campus entirely as Oshiro took a turn I'd missed.

"So, Hirako-chan, Ikeda-san seemed to think well of you," he said after a few minutes of walking.

 _Ikeda? Who-_ Nimaiya. Ikeda must've been the name teachers used to refer to him if curious students asked. "Well, I don't know," I said awkwardly. Nimaiya'd thought I knew a little about Zanpakutou, that was for sure, but he'd probably been trying to insult Oshiro with that comment. Realizing that Oshiro expected me to say more, I added, "He gave me some advice, but that was really it."

"Oh?" Oshiro's tone was casual, so casual I wouldn't have noticed that it wasn't genuine if I hadn't already been weirded out.

"He told me to try and stand out because people would try to make me like everyone else," I paraphrased. "He kinda got mad at me for looking at other people's asauchi, too. He wanted to make sure they 'took to' whoever they were meant for. I don't know what that means, but that's what he said."

Oshiro's reiatsu was more spreading ink than water. "I see," he said softly, brown eyes devoid of their usual sparkle. "Well, Ikeda-san's a very knowledgeable man, but he has little respect for the order of things and he doesn't like to share that knowledge. I wouldn't take what he said too much to heart."

Which part? I wanted to ask him, but bit my lip. Oshiro didn't think I was telling the truth, not completely. To be expected given my clan, but still. "I won't, Oshiro-sensei."

We arrived in a courtyard that was rather smaller than the one I'd initially gone to, an impression reinforced by the sprawling maple in the center. My classmates were already there, peering at each other's asauchi and chatting. I couldn't imagine there was much to chat about, given that they were all the same right now.

"Class!" Oshiro called, a hitch in his throat. He coughed, then tried again. "Class!"

He got their attention the second time. Untying a small pouch from his obi, Oshiro held it up for us to see. "Part of wielding a Zanpakutou means wearing it properly. This contains some hanging cords, for those who don't already have them." A few kids, Momohiko included, exchanged glances. They already wore their blades at their sides, cords tied into knots the Boy Scouts would envy. A cluster of students quickly formed, looking to get a certain color. Through blind luck, I got first pick—all Oshiro had to do to offer me one was turn, so it was convenient for him too. I selected a pale green cord and went to sit by Shinji, who somehow already had one.

"Before you ask, Dad gave it to me," he said, tapping the sunflower-yellow cord that secured his sword. "It was the one that uncle Youichi used when he was at Shin'ou. Want help with yours?"

I nodded. "Walk me through it?" I said hopefully. I wouldn't learn for the future if he did it for me, but the only knot I knew was the famous shoe-tying one.

He laughed. "Sure. Alright, first through this knob right here on the sheath, then through here, then..."

Soon enough I had a nice, tight knot securing my asauchi to my obi. "Hey, Shinji," I said lightly, "did the guy who gave you your asauchi say anything to you?"

Shinji shrugged. "Sure did." My heart sank. I'd hoped, just a little, that I'd been special. "Told me ta wield it well, asked my name. Why, did he perv on you?" The disappointment lifted. See there, Shinji, it pays to study.

"What?" I said, jaw dropping. "No way, you idiot! We just- talked. I'll tell you the rest later."

His eyes flicked over to me. "Who's the problem?"

Instead of answering aloud, I gave Oshiro a pointed look.

Shinji, of course, missed the whole point of my subtlety. "What, Oshiro? Nah, no way."

"That's Oshiro-sensei to you," I corrected automatically, then frowned. "But yes way. He's nice, yeah, but something happened between him and that guy, Ikeda. He has good intentions, but it'd be rude to discuss here."

Shinji's eyes met mine and didn't look away. Finally, I broke the stare. "I said I'd tell you the rest later, Shin," I told him, pursing my lips and tasting salt. "Be patient like a good little boy."

He took the bait. "Hey! I ain't a little boy! I'm only four years younger than ya, y'know!"

I arched a brow at him. "Hmm? Girls mature faster, though. You're still in that awkward phase, if you ask me."

"No one did," Shinji grumbled, scooting away from me. He opened his mouth to say something else when Oshiro, standing beneath the maple, spoke again.

"Class, form eight rows of three in front of me," Oshiro said, voice distinctly froggy. He cleared his throat and continued. "I don't want you distracted by your classmates."

After a bit of argument, everyone wanting to be next to their friends but having different ideas on who their friends were, we settled into rows. I ended up between two girls, both with impractically long pigtails and intent on holding a whispered conversation. Not even my best glare for keeping Shinji in line worked. Oshiro's glance over at them did the trick, though.

"I expect that you've gone over the proper way to draw a sword in your Zanjutsu classes," Oshiro said. "Draw your asauchi now and lay it across your laps."

I fumbled with mine for a second before it slid out of its sheath. To my slight disappointment, it didn't make that sharp-sounding noise I'd come to associate with drawn swords. Oh well. Maybe I could persuade my Zanpakutou spirit to do that.

"Hajimezen is the precursor to jinzen, which you all will perform when your Zanpakutou spirits settle," he said, brushing hair out of his eyes. "For now, hajimezen will help you to impress your will on your asauchi. Close your eyes, rest your hands on your asauchi blades, and focus only on the sound of my voice. Steady breathing is essential." I shut my eyes and tried to take slow, deep breaths.

Far from removing distraction, I found myself able to focus on physical discomfort instead. The heat and humidity, I was sure, would turn me into a Nariko dumpling by the end of the day, boiled in my own skin. Actually, I could go for some pork dumplings right now, maybe with- _Focus, Nariko. Listen to your teacher._

"Call reiryoku to your hands," Oshiro instructed. Piece of cake. Reiryoku already flowed thickly in my arms, courtesy of the reiatsu vents in my wrists. All I had to do was encourage it to move a little farther. Cracking an eye open, I noted with satisfaction the mostly-steady turquoise sheen of power on my skin. And, no surprise, the pigtail-girls had managed only flickering violet and tea-green light on their respective hands. Oshiro circled around to correct the girl on my left's technique, bending down to whisper instructions in her ear. For just a second too long to be accidental, his fingers brushed her asauchi. A frown creased ponytail-girl's forehead, but her purple light steadied. I closed my eyes again so he wouldn't scold me.

"Now, think about the answers to these questions as honestly as you possibly can. Tell your Zanpakutou what you want from it," he said, punctuating his sentence with a sniffle. I carefully avoided breathing in case he sneezed near me. "First, what do you hope to get from joining the Gotei or Onmitsukidou?"

Startled, I released the breath I'd been holding. That... I hadn't expected that question. What did I hope to get from a Shinigami career? Prestige? Shinji'd outshine me there. Money? My clan was decently wealthy already. Praise? Sure, I'd like that, but it'd be icing on the cake. Justice? As much as I hated to admit it, no. I steadied the power around my hands as it flickered, shame disrupting control. I'd definitely do my part to be a good soldier and affect what little change I could, but I wasn't brave or suicidal enough to be a radical here. I discarded security and peace easily. In a society like this one, safety was a joke and while fighting went against a lifetime of 'to avoid a fight is to win it' the life of a Shinigami was a life of war.

Ambition, greed, pride, morality, comfort, all out. My duty to watch Shinji's back and guide the timeline to canon didn't count. What did I want from my career here and now?

Closure.

I wanted... closure? Beneath my fingers, I thought I felt the touch of my reiatsu on the asauchi smooth, like it had accepted the answer. But closure... was that the word for what I really wanted? I wanted to know why Seireitei was as screwed-up as it was, certainly. I wanted to know why Aizen had tried to become God. I wanted explanations. I wanted everything to fit. Closure was for people whose lives had been torn apart. People who were missing something. I was—as I always had been—a privileged, loved child from a well-off family that cared for me, as much as they had odd ways of showing it. I wasn't missing anything. I just wanted to do it so I knew I could.

But if closure was the word for my need for answers, for my need to respond to the greatest call society could give me, then I wanted closure.

Oshiro's voice broke through my thoughts. "If you can't answer that question now, I'll be posing it to you many more times, I assure you." A hint of a chuckle edged his words. "Second question: why do you want to join the division you have your sights set on?"

Much easier. The Ninth appealed because they handled security and the Seireitei Bulletin. I prided myself on my eye for writing both good and bad, if not my own skill at it. The security bit was my own personal interest—rule-breakers rubbed me the wrong way, even if my own brother was one. The Twelfth was a means to an end, with the promise of information about how souls worked to sweeten the deal.

I closed that mental topic and let myself simply relax. I might as well use my chances for relaxation before things got complicated. A breeze ruffled hair and leaves. Someone sneezed, mouse-like. I grinned, hiding it quickly as the scratch of Oshiro's footsteps came closer. They stopped, loud as if they were right by my ear. I opened an eye and nearly jumped to my feet. Oshiro was right there.

"Hirako-chan," he murmured, bending down, "your Zanpakutou will only manifest more slowly if you do not focus." Reaching out, he laid his hand on my blade. "You must want-"

I jerked away. "I'm sorry, Oshiro-sensei," I replied, low and harsh, "but I want you to not touch my asauchi. I mean, ah, could you please give me a little space?" I softened my voice slightly. "My studies suggest-"

"Then we must talk privately, you and I, about your studies," Oshiro said. A little warmth left his voice. "I don't think they're leading you in the correct direction." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw heads start to turn. "As a teacher, I can't let my brightest student's progress be slowed."

I should've replied with some brilliant comeback. The Hirako clan wasn't nicknamed the 'Golden Fox' clan for nothing. We were supposed to have the ability of a kitsune to talk our way out of situations.

Instead, my deference to authority took over. "As a student, I'll obey my teacher," I heard myself say. "Sorry, Oshiro-sensei."

The warmth returned. "We can talk later, Hirako-chan. Try to focus on the lesson, please."

I shut my eyes tight, listening to his footsteps retreat. With each one my anger, at him and myself, ebbed. I pulled back my reiryoku from my hands. If hajimezen really worked, I didn't want my Zanpakutou getting the wrong idea. I needed a strong blade. Not whatever would come from the person who'd clammed up when she should've defended herself.

I fled with Shinji by my side the second class let out. Today wasn't the day for me to talk to Oshiro. Tomorrow wasn't the day for me to talk to Oshiro. I needed time to think of what to say. Shinji would help, but I'd talk to him tomorrow. Right now I needed Shinju.

I arrived back at our room to find her already there, kneeling at her desk by a stack of completed sheets.

"Hard at work, huh?" I said, sliding the door shut behind me.

"Mhm. Ise-sensei assigned us to pick us an aspect of Hakuda and write about it. I just don't know what to write. It's so vague, you know" she confessed. "How do you do something you've been told to do when you haven't been told anything about it?"

I frowned. "Hard to say. What exactly did he say?"

"She," Shinju corrected. "Ise Kazue-sensei. She told us that 'Hakuda, done correctly, is an art that uses all of one's body and mind to defeat an opponent. Stiff fingers in a ridge-hand strike make it more effective, but the arm swings through, and the mind pinpoints the correct target. Many aspects are unified in Hakuda. Write about one.''

"Wow. You have a good memory for things other people say," I told her, kneeling at my own desk to begin my work. "Ever thought about the Onmitsukidou?" It wasn't completely a joke. I remembered written information well, and most people used techniques to keep track of information, but in the field an onmitsu couldn't stop to take notes. Clear memory of spoken words could be a valuable skill.

Shinju laughed. "Thanks, but I'm not even under the Shihouin. If I didn't have reiryoku, I'd be fine working with cloth my whole life. All I'd be good for in that service is darning prison uniforms."

I giggled, imagining Shinju handing a robe to Kurotsuchi. Knowing her, Shinju would personalize every uniform. Maybe little bugs on Kurotsuchi's. He was rotten enough to deserve those. "Back to your essay," I said, growing serious. "I think she meant for you to write about how a part of the body can be used in Hakuda. Or something like breathing. Good breathing'll be helpful if we're in a fight and have to be running around a lot, I bet." I scrunched up my face, thinking of an example to give her. "'The palm is essential for less lethal styles,'" I invented. "'A-" I glanced over. "What do you call these?" I demonstrated a crescent-palm.

"Palm-heel," Shinju reminded me.

"Right. 'A palm-heel strike to the nose will break the nose and cause a nose-bleed, potentially humiliating the opponent. If done well, it could burst the blood vessels around the eyes, causing black eyes and impairing vision.'"

Shinju blinked. After a second, she beamed at me. "Thanks! Though I couldn't imagine doing something like that, you know. Fighting someone is one thing, humiliating them is another."

I stared at her. We were training to become killers, for heaven's sake. "That's not really how a fight works. If you're at the point where you're fighting someone, anything's fair game."

She stared back, satisfaction fading. "That's just cruel! I don't want someone doing that to me, so I'm not going to do it to them. There are other ways to win."

Oh, poor, naive Shinju. "There are two," I replied, swirling my brush around my inkstone to get some ink made. "First one is to not fight at all—talk it out. Second one is to crush them."

Shinju stopped writing, red tinting her cheeks. "Are you crazy? We can't go around killing everyone who picks a fight, you know. At least we could knock them out."

"Not realistic," I said, heat touching my own cheeks, though my voice remained cool. "Most ways to knock someone out have a high rate of killing them anyway. And I'm not saying to kill everyone who picks a fight. Just beat them however much they'd beat you. Someone means to give you a black eye, give him a black eye. Someone means to kill someone you're protecting, you kill him."

Her jaw dropped. "You are crazy! How can you talk about killing someone so easily?"

Was it a lifetime of learning about the horrors of war that let me be so detached? Or just my own level head? "Because it's just talk," I said, eyes dropping to my paper. "I'll regret- I hope I'll regret when I have to kill. But, Shinju-san? I know I will. And when it comes down to someone who won't regret it killing me or me killing them? I won't have the time to ask myself what the right thing to do is."

Silence hung in our room for a while, disturbed only by the swish of our brushes.

"Hirako-chan? How long have you known you wanted to be a Shinigami?" She asked.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. "I don't know," I answered. "Forever, really." Was it safe to tell her that I didn't agree with the Gotei? No, not yet. Not so soon. "I want to serve. Always have. And in my family I had to take some kind of military path. It was this or spymaster." I tried for a smile. "Shinji got forced into it, 'cause he's strong, but me? I'm more responsible than I should be. I guess... I didn't want to be able to write off the people I killed as 'not my fault.'" At my side, my asauchi hummed. I glanced down at it, but nope. Still an ordinary sword. Probably my imagination. "What about you?"

"Since my brother told me I could be one," she admitted. "He was always saying how awesome Shinigami were. When I realized I had the power to, it was a dream come true, you know?"

"Yeah."

More silence, but more comfortable silence this time. I finished a paragraph about the formation of the first Gotei 13. It was weird, how our teachers expected us not to show our opinions in the essays we wrote. The original captains of the Gotei 13 would've been tried as war criminals if they'd done what they'd done in the Living World. Here, their actions served Soul Society and that was supposed to be enough for us to call them good. Of course, it was probably a thousand times safer in that case to not pass judgment. Yamamoto and Unohana were still alive, after all.

Huh. I wondered if the Fourth was full of people who would've been normal soldiers anywhere else and were the closest thing Soul Society had to conscientious objectors here. It would explain part of why no one did anything about how the Eleventh treated the Fourth. Actually, a lot of why no one punished the Eleventh. Beyond their Kenpachi captains, Eleventh Division members were probably, attitude-wise, models of what the Central 46 wanted their brainwashing to produce.

"So, what're you writing about?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, I picked breathing. It's important to have good breathing, you know," Shinju said, taking the change in subject with a grateful smile.

We chattered on like that for a while, conversation touching on many topics, none of them serious, as we worked. Nerves I hadn't known were frayed were soothed.

Unconsciousness hit me like a sledgehammer, if the most merciful one I'd ever seen.


	6. The Winds Bear it High

"Hirako! Let's talk."

I'd evaded Oshiro so far. Himura, on the other hand, was a bit harder. Only three and a half days until I didn't have to attend double Hakuda, but if they were anything like the twenty-seven and a half days before them, I'd be watching the clock the whole time.

Metaphorically, of course. Soul Society hadn't discovered the clock yet. Soon, I hoped, because without schedules, without starting and ending times and all that I was left itching for order-

 _Focus._

I trudged over to Himura as my classmates made their escape. It took only a frown from the man to make something within me shrivel. Probably the beginnings of my Zanpakutou spirit. He had that kind of face.

Don't believe me? Fine. I'll paint you a picture of him, then.

Himura Kyou was an inch taller than me, at best. The fact that his posture was better than a Kuchiki's made him looks taller, though. That and his presence. Not just his reiatsu, hot and metallic, like the sun reflected in a knife, but the way he carried himself. He seemed always ready to defend against—or attack—anything he hadn't triple-checked for safety. Consequently, we got a lecture every day about proper sparring conduct.

Maybe he didn't have it out for me, but it was still annoying. Anyway.

Himura had these wide, pale blue eyes that would've looked innocent if they weren't constantly checking his surroundings for weaknesses. Not just his students' technique, his surroundings. He called it readiness. I would've agreed with him if we weren't in school and surrounded by Shinigami. Part of his idea of readiness was keeping his hair too short to grab—a buzz-cut, like Love's, but receding and light brown. No unnecessary accessories customized his uniform. The only things that kept the man from looking like an out-of-place Army general were the faded black tattoos covering his body. All, according to Himura himself, were cataloged by the Second Division in the event that he died. Something about making his body easier to identify.

I had to confess, staring down at his perfectly regulation waraji, that they were actually kind of cool.

"Hirako, you aren't in trouble," he said, every syllable clipped like the drill sergeant he was.

It was a testament to the way Himura enforced the rules that my head only twitched up, instead of looking him in the eye. Respect, the only thing we agreed on, was paramount in this classroom. "Himura-sensei?"

"I want you to be honest with me, Hirako. What're you like in a fight?" He asked. "No, wait. Look at me when you say it."

I dragged my eyes up to meet his. Once they'd settled on Himura's eyes, or somewhere just above them, it was easy to keep them there. Inertia at work: objects in motion stay in motion, objects at rest stay at rest. Objects that are too uneasy to disobey orders obey orders, at any rate. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"What do I mean? I mean, what're you like when push comes to shove. Why you fight. Why you fight the way you do. How you'd fight against a strong opponent versus a weak one. Speak up, Hirako," he commanded.

I wrapped my fingers tight around one wrist. What did he want from me? I decided to take his questions at face value. "I watch people, sensei," I said at last. "People who look like I might have to fight them. I'd rather ignore them, but I fight to win when I can't avoid it." I hesitated, trying to put my usual strategy into words. "Against any enemy, I'd fight fast and hard. No point in going easy." Which segued nicely into why and how I fought. "I fight because I have to. And that's why I fight the way I fight too, sensei." Okay, I'd answered his questions. Can I go now? I tried to send that message through his held gaze.

Himura 'hmm'ed. "I thought so. You fit your clan better than I've heard, Hirako."

Curiosity won out over concern for my impending lateness. "I still don't know what you mean, Himura-sensei."

"I mean your clan likes doing things the smart way. No more work than you have to do. It's not a bad way to fight." He leaned in. I froze, caught between leaning back and standing still like I was supposed to. "But you know what, Hirako? It's not a good way either. Sometimes you gotta take the fight to them. Sometimes there won't be time for you to watch and learn. And sometimes pressing your opponent is just gonna put their back against a wall. Ever fought a trapped animal, Hirako? Desperate and scared's the worst combination. Trying to deflect it, or overwhelm it, well, you might as well be trying to stop a flood with your hands. It'll go through you, not around."

I blinked rapidly, opened my mouth to say something, and shut it again. The words would've refused to come anyway.

Himura sighed, a rumbling sound, and pulled back. "Hirako, what point am I trying to make to you?"

I gulped, took a few seconds to think through my response. "That I have to act instead of react?"

He shook his head. "Textbook, Hirako. True, but textbook. No. You have to get a handle on your fear."

My fear? I blinked rapidly at him. I wasn't scared, just smart. "I don't get it."

"Of course not," Himura muttered. "You're scared, Hirako. You don't fight fast and careful because you have to if you want to win. You fight that way because you're too scared not to. You fall back on your clan style time and again because you're too scared to remember what I teach you. Or at least, you fall back on the main points of your clan style. Attack, attack, attack." He shook his head again. "It works now, 'cause your classmates are boneheaded second-years, but someday it won't work. So I've asked Ounabara-san to extend your punishment."

"What?" I gaped at him, outraged. "You can't- I mean-"

"Your defense is shoddy and your grappling only slightly better, Hirako," Himura said. I could've sworn a hint of a smug smile touched his lips. "I can and I will, until I've drummed the fear out of you. Or taught you to control it, at least." He was definitely smirking now. "Cheer up. You won't have to help out the other Hakuda teachers anymore. And I'm moving your time. Instead of being with my second Hakuda 2 class, we'll meet... oh, after dinner. You'll learn how to eat properly for our sessions that way."

 _Oh, Shinji, I hope you were right about me learning something special from him._ "Just you and me, Himura-sensei?" I asked, praying that it was some kind of group remedial Hakuda lesson.

He rolled his neck, vertebrae popping. "Depends on which one of my third-years I can get to help out. But mostly just us, yeah. We'll start two days from now. Gives me a chance to draw up some lesson plans. Got it?"

My heart sank. I didn't need more Hakuda lessons. I'd done my time and my classmates could attest that I was doing fine in Hakuda. "Yes, Himura-sensei," I grumbled after a couple seconds. "Can I go now?"

"You can go when I say you can go!" He barked. Himura let me stew a few more seconds before his smirk widened. "You can go."

* * *

"...and that's why I was late," I explained to Minoru. "He's always on about respect, but he doesn't respect other people's time!"

Minoru's forehead creased. It was easy to see that he was trying to think of ways to pacify me. "I'm sure he means well fer ya..." He said after a while. "Ah, this kana, is it right?"

I peered down at the symbol he'd written. Despite his late start, Minoru had proven to be a quick study—we were almost finished with learning hiragana. He'd get better with them through practice. "There should be an extra line here." I wrote it on my own paper. "You remember what it sounds like?"

"'Yo,'" he answered. "The guy who sits next ta me in Rukongai Studies is named Youji, that's how I remember."

I nodded, writing another kana on my paper. "It's helpful to have a mnemonic device—something that helps you remember a word, or a kana. What's this one?"

He rolled his eyes, a private victory for me. Every bit I could get him to loosen up helped—not just me, though it helped with teaching, but him too. Minoru had decent reiryoku, above Shinju's, but our Reiryoku Manipulation teacher chastised him at least once a class for being so timid about using it that by the time a technique was ready he'd wasted half the power. The more confidence he had, the better for his career. "That's 'ru.' C'mon, Nariko-san. I can recognize part of my name."

I grinned. "Hey, the r-kana were the hardest for me. How about this one?" I traced another one.

He squinted. "That's... Looks like 'se,' but the little marks mean something."

"'Ze,'" I reminded him. "Okay, your assignment for next time is to study hakuten and youon." To be fair, it was tricky to remember how kana changed their sounds, but 'ji' was a pretty common name ending for guys. I figured he'd get that one quickly at least.

He blew his bangs out of his face, putting away his brush. I cringed, glancing at his case. It contained space for a little extra paper and an inkstone, which meant it had probably cost him more than he could afford. On the other hand, the case's paint had begun to peel and its latches were questionable. I ran through my finances in my head. If I remembered correctly, I had more than enough money to get him a decent case. That one wouldn't last him too long, though I didn't doubt that he knew how to improvise repairs.

"You know, Minoru-kun, you're progressing really fast," I commented as casually as I could. "I'd say you deserve a reward."

He froze, staring at me like a rabbit faced with a hawk. "N-Nariko-san! I couldn't- it wouldn't be fair-"

"What wouldn't be fair? You really are doing great," I told him. Part of me was surprised—who didn't like gifts? Another part, though, wasn't—I usually didn't like gifts, unequal as they felt. Exchanges were far easier to stomach, especially if I thought the gift-giver was pitying me. On second thought, it might've been better to suggest that. "A new case would be practical. Better to buy one once than several because they keep breaking."

"But it's yer money," he insisted, jaw set. "I can keep my case together without ya goin' ta all that trouble. 'Sides, it ain't like ya get anythin' outta this. Just me." Minoru flushed, eyes flicking to his waraji. "I should be doin' somethin' ta thank-"

"It's not about what I do or don't get out of this," I interrupted him. Guilt, happily, hadn't found its way to my heart yet. Instead, bullheaded determination prevailed. I _would_ get Minoru some kind of reward for his hard work. "I can tell you, I wouldn't be teaching you if I didn't want to. And I don't lie. You work harder than that spoiled Wakahisa. If he gets people fawning over him for doing half of what you do, you deserve a brush case at least."

"But-" Minoru began, then stopped. _Resistance is futile!_ A little voice in the back of my mind gloated. Another voice added, more reasonably, _He probably isn't comfortable with it. At least try and smooth things over. We need this one to like us._

"Minoru," I tried again, more gently, "if you really don't want one, I won't force one on you. It's not that I think you can't make it here without someone helping you along. I just want to give you something, friend to friend." Friend to friend? Where had that come from? But it rang true. "If it makes you feel better, I guess that's what I get out of this. Before we came here, Shinji was my only friend," I confessed. For someone who'd been used to making friends with her classmates, growing up on an estate that was distant from everything and everyone had been confusing and lonely. "It's nice... to have another friend."

Minoru stared at me for a long moment, eyes sharp and suspicious. His reiatsu played over mine and I let it without trying to pull back. I hadn't tried, but since people could obviously lie in Soul Society, I bet I could've twisted my reiatsu to seem honest had I not meant every word. It wasn't a wholly uncomfortable feeling. His reiatsu put me in mind of an owl—watchful, quiet, and the oddest mixture of feather-softness and talon-sharpness. "If- if I ever find out that you're pityin' me, or that you're just tryin' ta buy me like a pet, I'll- I'll make ya wish we never met," he warned. "I don't care if ya are a noble, I'll make you sorry."

That was oddly comforting, to know that he was ready to stand up for himself if he really had to. No doubt the Fugai district had taught him what was worth fighting for and what should be conceded to fight another day. "And if I do that, I hope you will make me sorry. I'd rather get punished when I screw up." I met his stare with my own. Whatever he saw there must've been convincing enough, because Minoru nodded.

"But really, ya don't have to get me anythin'," he said. "I can get by with this." He held up his brush case.

I poked my tongue out at him. "Stubborn. Fine. When's your birthday?"

Minoru huffed. "Ya know I don't got one," he said.

I huffed back. "And you know what I mean. What day did you wake up in Soul Society?"

To my surprise, he shrugged. "My gang never said what day they found me." Minoru shifted, shaggy hair falling away from his neck. As he did, I caught sight of blue-green ink. I hid my surprise behind a curious look. Maybe Minoru was older than I'd thought, if he already had a tattoo. Or maybe old cultural norms hadn't quite faded. "I remember it was right when winter came around, though."

I hummed, trying to think of an appropriate date. I gave up on being creative and suggested, "How about November 7th? That's the day winter starts, right? So it fits."

Minoru blinked. "Does it really matter?" He asked.

I grinned. "Of course it matters. You can't refuse a gift on your birthday, after all."

He groaned. "Nariko-san..."

"None of that," I told him in my best 'strict mother' voice. "You'll take your birthday gifts and you will like them. I hope so, anyway. I'm not so good at picking presents."

Minoru pulled a face at me. "You're the stubbornest person I know, you know that?" Shinji was more obstinate, actually, but I didn't expect him to know that, given that Shinji hadn't found anything he wanted at Shin'ou yet.

"I know," I said, beaming at him. "Unlucky for you, isn't it?"

Minoru half-smiled. "You can say that again."

* * *

"Unlucky for you, isn't it?"

I stood face-to-face with Yamada Seinosuke. So close they might as well have been in my face too, a couple friends of his stood on either side of him. None of them looked like bullies, if you ignored the swagger in their strides and the scared-rabbit stares other students gave them. The guy on Seinosuke's right had an open face and a gold ring on his finger, for heaven's sake. He should've been giving directions to lost first-years, not helping his friend rough one up.

That was how they'd lured me in, by the way. Gold-Ring had approached me, asking if I needed help getting to my next class, and subtly herded me to a secluded courtyard. There seemed to be an awful lot of those at Shin'ou. From there, Seinosuke and his other friend, a boy my height with droopy brown eyes like a dog's and lean, rough reiatsu like an alley cat's, had appeared.

"Well? Don't got a mouth on you this time, do you, horse-teeth?" Seinosuke jeered.

I kept my 'horse teeth' hidden behind closed lips, silently watching them. In my experience, just acting weird or creepy could get people to back off. Unfortunately, my experience was from a lifetime ago, with kids who still thought drawing dicks on things was funny. It might not hold true here.

Staying silent also gave me the chance to think of how to get out of this situation instead of thinking up a comeback. Of the three, Gold-Ring had the strongest reiatsu by far, but his was the least-refined. Seinosuke held that honor, while Dog-Eyes looked to be the sort who fell in with bullies because he couldn't find any other group to run with. I'd have to watch him—if he decided he had to prove himself to Gold-Ring and Seinosuke, who knew what he'd do? I kept my eyes up, watching their bodies. Gold-Ring looked to have the most raw strength, which wasn't to be underestimated. Dog-Eyes's reiatsu scraped against mine. He probably served as a look-out when they roughed kids up in an abandoned classroom or some cliche shit like that. Pathetic, but it meant he was probably the most adept at looking for signs of danger. So what did Seinosuke have that made him stand out from the other two?

Searching for every advantage they could get, my eyes lit on Seinosuke's waist. His Zanpakutou. And it really was a Zanpakutou, not an asauchi. Instead of the usual black, his wakizashi had a white hilt-wrapping, with the sheath being toxic green. His sword guard, I appreciated distantly, resembled a lotus blossom. Beyond the beauty, though, it gave me insight into the nature of his sword's abilities: plant-based, or maybe poison-based.

My Zanjutsu was decent for my year, but not enough to defeat three older opponents, even if Seinosuke didn't have Shikai. And Gold-Ring, I saw, though I couldn't make out its design. I didn't know any Kidou. Since I didn't know any Houhou either, fleeing wasn't an option unless I could make sure none of them could follow. Hakuda was once again my only option. I just had to hope that I'd learned enough to make up for the low odds that I'd get lucky and Seinosuke would fall this time too.

"Hey! Horse-teeth, you gonna say something when you're done checking out my junk?"

Seinosuke's friends laughed. Gold-Ring had a surprisingly rich laugh, a deep baritone, while Dog-Eyes's was much higher and forced.

Me, I didn't think it was so funny. I flushed brilliant red. The heat scorching my insides might've been my impending death by embarrassment. Or it might've been anger. You know, the kind that had gotten the better of me last time Seinosuke and I met. I wasn't doing so well on the whole 'avoiding fights' front.

"If I was looking there, it was only because I hadn't heard that Yamada-senpai had any relatives," I said, giving him my most blatantly fake-innocent look. "You'd be his twin sister, then?" And there went my chance at avoiding a fight. I should just sew my mouth shut already. I tensed, ready to dodge.

"Poison her blood!" A new voice, dry and raspy, shouted. My head snapped around, looking for the new voice, and met with Seinosuke's slap. I gasped, twisting with the strike. Seinosuke stepped around me and kicked me in the back of the knee. I fell to my knees, processing my new position in time for his knee to collide with my nose.

"B-bastard," I choked out, scrambling back. Seinouke was clearly no amateur at hurting unsuspecting people. But who had his accomplice been? I glared around the courtyard through tears, licked my lips and tasted blood and salt. No one but him, Gold-Ring, and Dog-Eyes. While the voice hadn't been feminine, theirs weren't high enough to match.

Terrific. On top of a bloody nose and being outnumbered, I got the disadvantage of going crazy.

"Hey, Yamada, think that brush case'd sell for much?" Gold-Ring said. He ran a hand lazily through his hair. Something about the way it stood up after he'd finished made names spring to the tip of my tongue. Who did he- Shiba. And here I'd had the impression that the Shiba clan was a group of nice guys. Well, there was always an-

"I'll hold her down if you wanna sell it, Isshin-sama," Dog-Eyes said.

-exception. Holy fuck, Isshin? Ichigo's dad? My blood went cold. Oh, I wanted answers _now._

Isshin shrugged. "Nah, seems kinda unfair. I'd rather ask nicely. Hey, Blondie-chan, I don't suppose you'd just give that little trinket to me? See, I've got a couple debts racked up, and my Clan Head'd kill me if she knew. This whole arrangement's temporary, y'know."

I growled in the back of my throat. My grandfather'd given me that case. "Not my problem if you're an irresponsible moron, _Isshin._ " I put as much emphasis on his name as I could. Later I might be able to claim that I hadn't known his full name, but right now I meant all the rudeness the dropped honorific implied. He was supposed to be a good guy, dammit! He'd better get nicer in however long we had until canon.

Isshin's eyes narrowed to slits. His reiatsu writhed, a superheated blade at my throat. Even if Seinosuke had the most refined reiatsu, Isshin definitely won the prize for 'best-honed.' I drew the deepest breath I could and shoved back with my reiatsu.

"Let Seinosuke do whatever he wants with that upstart bitch," a bass voice, edged with crackling fire, rumbled. This time I very consciously didn't glance around. I'd like to be a nutjob with as few injuries as possible, thanks. I cringed anyway, scrambling to my feet. Time to end this. And by end this, I meant run the hell away, flash-step be damned. If Aizen could do it, I sure as hell was going to try.

"Wh-why're you doing this?" I croaked. "I'm sorry, alright? Let it go." For a last-ditch attempt at peace, I could've tried to be more convincing. I didn't, since I wasn't trying to placate them. I needed an opening and if I could play on Seinosuke's arrogance I might be able to get one. Isshin, pissed-off and therefore focused on me, would be harder. But I didn't have time to give a shit about Isshin.

 _Bring the fight to them._

Seinosuke scowled, leaning forwards. "So that's where all the fat that should've gone to your tits went: your head. You think that even if you forget and go on all la-di-da with your friends, everyone else forgets? Hell, you even got off lighter, snake-in-the-grass. Where the hell's the justice in-"

I rocketed forward, screaming at the top of my lungs, and slammed a crescent-palm into Seinosuke's solar plexus. Something crunched and he crumpled with a scream. I turned to flee and smashed into Isshin, who wrapped me in a front bear hug. I kicked frantically, succeeding only in smashing my heel into Seinosuke's head.

"Easy, little lady," Isshin grunted. This was not how I wanted my first time pressed up to a guy's chest to be. He reeked of smoke and night air. I opened my mouth to scream again. "Nanase, get her mouth!"

A grimy hand clamped over my mouth. "Do what Isshin-sama says," Dog-Eyes's nasal voice echoed from behind me. "Just cooperate."

Isshin shifted his grip, hands moving lower to get my brush case—I hoped. Either way, I took advantage of the loosened grip and licked Nanase's hand. Despite his disgusting behavior, he recoiled instinctively and I struck, snapping my head back into his nose. He staggered back, swearing. Isshin hadn't trapped my arms, so I jabbed full-moon fists beneath his ribs. He doubled over, letting me stomp on his feet and back up, bringing my elbow back into Nanase's stomach.

There! I bolted, opening created. If I'd done my job right, Isshin'd have some broken toes and Nanase'd be too winded to chase me for a few seconds. If I hadn't, Isshin wouldn't be able to run at full speed for a bit and anyone Nanase ran past would take notice of his bloody nose, if they didn't outright stop and question him.

I grabbed hold of my reiryoku, shunting it clumsily to my legs. Even if it wasn't flash-step, it couldn't hurt to reinforce the muscles there.

 _Note to self_ , I thought as my legs burned, _take up running. This is pathetic_. Granted, it was way better than anything I could've managed Before, but still. My steps were already slowing, heavy and jarring.

Alley-cat reiatsu surged behind me and I mouthed curses, too breathless to actually say them. _Son of a bitch. Shit. Fuck. Dammit_. Why didn't I know any others? Had to remedy that.

Halle-fucking-lujah. A mass of reiatsu signatures off to my right. I nearly fell down the steps of a training field as I turned—had to remedy my agility too—and headed for what I hoped was a class. Behind me, waraji pounded down the steps. Nanase cursed as he slid through a patch of mud.

I neared the class—upper-year Zanjutsu—and felt the surprised flicker of Nanase's power. An impulse struck me. Could I-

I was sure as hell going to try. No one got away with roughing up a first-year. No one got away with hurting me. The fact that I could handle myself was beside the point. My head was throbbing and my vision was water-blurry again and I was only a first year this wasn't fair.

I spun on my heel and charged Nanase. For a few crucial seconds he stopped dead, because who the hell ran towards the person chasing them? I bore down on him, shouting wordlessly, and by the time he had his hands up it was too late. I bowled him over, toppling to the grass on top of him. I sat on his chest, raised a full-moon fist. Stopped, because whatever he read on my face was enough to turn Nanase paper-white.

"Pleasedon'thurtme," he stammered. "IwasjusttherecauseIowed-"

"Tell it to Ounabara," I bit out, panting. I rolled off of him, hauling him up by his collar before he could flee.

Grey fatigue began to sink in as I stalked over to the class. It chased enough fury from my brain that I didn't go straight through the sparring students like I'd originally planned. No sense surviving Seinosuke only to take a bokken to the head.

The Zanjutsu teacher supervising, a granite block of a woman, merely raised an eyebrow as I dragged Nanase over. "Who did what where?" She asked dryly.

"Him," I said without preamble, "Shiba Isshin, Yamada Seinosuke. Ambushed me, wanted to take my stuff. Courtyard on the way to my Reiryoku Manipulation class."

She sighed, a whuffling sort of sigh like a horse or dog. Unflattering, but accurate. "Oh, for fu- for heaven's sake. Muguruma! You're in charge!"

A guy, running tantou kata apart from the group, strode over and my eyes went so wide I thought they'd fall out of my head. Kensei, definitely in his last year if he was allowed to work independently, spared little more than an irritated glance for me. Or maybe that was his resting expression, since he gave the teacher the same look.

As the teacher led us away, I threw a look over my shoulder at Kensei. He stood there, arms folded, not barking orders like I thought he would. Overall, he wasn't what I'd expected. The floppy bangs hadn't made their appearance yet and neither had his belligerence—though admittedly he hadn't been in a position to do that without punishment. Kensei's hair was actually on the long side, in a short ponytail.

Less disappointingly, I thought as we neared the administrative building, he looked lighter. Freer. Not stretched-taut all the time, not shouldering the responsibilities of a captain or the mixed blessing of an inner Hollow. Like an actual person, a teenager trying to make his way in the world like the rest of us. Like me. I wondered if he'd met Mashiro yet.

"I'm coming in, sir!" Granite announced as we stopped in front of one of the ubiquitous screen doors. She slid it open and for the second time in a month, I was back in Ounabara's office. We followed her in.

Ounabara's tan face drooped a little when he saw us. "Hirako..." He growled. A few seconds passed as he gave us the long, exasperated look of a veteran teacher. "Let go of him," he ordered. I blinked, feeling my hand release Nanase's collar like it wasn't mine. I'd forgotten to let go, apparently. "And sit down."

We knelt, folding into seiza. The teacher who'd brought us here stood at attention.

"What, by the Soukyoku, happened this time?" He asked, some of the hostility draining from his voice. "Ishimori-sensei, this can't have happened in your class."

"It didn't," she said bluntly. "The girl here dragged over this kid, both of 'em bruised and bloody when they arrived. Hey—Hirako, was it?—tell him what you told me."

"Shiba Isshin offered me help getting to my next class," I said after a few seconds. "I went along with it because I- I didn't know what else to do," I admitted. Subconsciously, I was sure, I'd recognized Isshin as someone good, someone I knew would be important someday. More consciously, I liked having people pay attention to me, without my having to work up the courage to talk to them first. It hadn't occurred to me that attention wasn't always a good thing. "I thought we were taking a shortcut when we took a different turn than I normally do to get to that class. But he nudged me into this one courtyard and then Yamada Seinosuke and this guy Nanase turned up."

"Nanase Hibiki," Nanase muttered.

"Something to say?" Ounabara asked, tone just shy of his usual boom.

"I-I was only there because I owe Yamada-san," he stammered. As I'd thought, without his friends Nanase was almost harmless, eager to find a way to save his own skin. "He stopped some guys who were asking me to do stuff for them and I told him I owed him a favor. So this was his favor."

Ounabara huffed, apparently not thinking much of anyone who'd perform such a favor, even for their rescuer. I had to side with Ounabara on that one, though I wondered how long it had been since Seinosuke'd saved Nanase. They'd seemed decently close, especially since Nanase hadn't seemed to have many qualms about roughing me up. I was beginning to think that the only reason Seinosuke hadn't joined the Eleventh was his authority problem. Shin'ou had probably shunted him into the Fourth so he didn't turn out completely uncontrollable. "Hirako, continue."

I tried to sort what had happened. "Yamada-senpai taunted me for a while," I said as Ounabara began to look impatient with my thinking. "Then I said something stupid and he slapped me-"

"You called him a girl," Nanase provided helpfully, sounding as though he was on the verge of laughing. He wilted only slightly beneath Ounabara and Ishimori's glares.

I gave him my best death glare. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ishimori doing the same, arms folded tight across her chest. Ounabara's disapproving frown deepened. Did he have any other expression?

"You aren't under the Shihouin, boy." A couple seconds passed before I realized that Ounabara'd asked a question. Maybe his lack of emotion was actually a problem with his resting face.

"No, sir," Nanase mumbled, smile fading as he ducked his head. "I-I'm from the third ward in Takahashi." I ran through my knowledge of Rukongai districts. Plenty of gaps remained, though I'd tried to soak up as much knowledge as was available, but I was fairly certain that Takahashi was the sixteenth district of North Rukongai, known for its namesake high-up bridge above the churning Nanase River. Death times death—sixteenth was relatively well-off, but with a number like that, no wonder people'd picked on him. Nobles put high value on symbolism and superstition.

Ounabara grunted. "Then I'll advise you to learn city manners. The title of Shinigami falls to any who know their duty, not just men."

"And you'll get beaten to a bloody paste if you piss off a female superior," Ishimori added. "Or a Shihouin. Or Captain Shibounmei and Lieutenant Hikifune. Or Commander-in-Chief Amaya-sama, but it's better not to get on a Shihouin empress's bad side anyway. And especially Captain Unohana."

Everyone in the room shuddered. That... yeah. I could've cited a lot of reasons why Shinigami were pretty egalitarian—anyone could die for Soul Society, the influence of the Shihouin, etc., etc.—but it really boiled down to institutionalized fear of Unohana.

"Hirako. Continue. No further interruptions," Ounabara ordered after a moment.

"Yamada-senpai slapped me, then kneed me in the face." I paused. Should I tell them about the voice I'd heard? On the one hand, if Yamada had had other conspirators, then they deserved to get punished. On the other hand, I hadn't actually seen anyone and the Maggots' Nest didn't seem like a good place to wind up in before I'd even made it out of Shin'ou. I elected to stay quiet about that. "I fought back and-" I stopped again. Who had I hit where? "I think I got Yamada-senpai in the solar plexus and in the head—second time by accident, though. Issh- Shiba-sama grabbed me so I wouldn't run away and I stepped on his toes really hard so he'd let go when he changed grip. I think he wanted to sell my brush case." My fingers drifted up to brush said object, lingering on its painted surface. Granddad had had it decorated with the legend of Madame White Snake. Whether he'd been encouraging me to take after Madame White Snake or had just liked the picture I wasn't sure, but I hadn't let it out of my sight since receiving it.

"And why would a Shiba have any need to profit from taking your brushes?" Ounabara asked. It was a fair question, given that the Shiba clan hadn't lost their prestige yet.

"He said he had a few debts that he didn't want his Clan Head to know about," I answered.

Nanase shifted position. "He owed Yamada-san money," he said. "A lot if people owe him something or other. Bets on exam results, blackmail, tutoring, that sort of thing. "

"Sounds like when I was at school," Ishimori mused, "only it was always Liu Yun doing that."

Ounabara ignored her. "I gave the instruction for no further interruptions," he said.

I took that as my cue to continue. "I snapped my head back into Nanase's nose." I bit back the apology on my lips. I was not sorry, dammit! _I did what I had to do!_ "And elbowed him in the stomach for good measure. Then I ran away." I flinched as Ishimori and Ounabara gave me disapproving stares. I frowned back. What was I supposed to do, let myself get beaten into a pulp? "And," I said before Nanase could interrupt again, "I tackled him right before we reached Ishimori-sensei's class."

Ounabara hmphed. "Now why would you do that, Hirako?" He put slight emphasis on 'you,' like he would've believed anyone but Hirako Nariko to be capable of tackling someone.

I barely restrained myself from hmmphing back. As it was, I took a second to think. Not about why, but how to phrase it. "Because I was really, really angry, sir," I said at last, giving up on acting like I'd taken the higher ground. "I don't like getting hurt. And my case was a gift from my grandfather."

Ounabara grunted, clasping his hands. "Your continued training with Himura will serve you well, then." For a second, Nanase looked simultaneously stunned and overjoyed, like he thought Ounabara had inexplicably decided in favor of his gang. "As for you, Nanase. Am I to understand that you joined Yamada Seinosuke in attacking a first-year noble girl?"

Nanase's face crumpled as he went paler than the rice paper screens around us. "Y-yessir."

"And Hirako, what part did he have in the attack?" Ounabara turned his ink-dark eyes on me.

I swallowed. With the anger fading, I didn't know whether I really wanted to condemn Nanase. He was kinda... pitiful. His heart wasn't even in roughing me up and I suspected that I didn't want to know what Seinosuke had rescued him from. But he'd made his choice. Feeling as though you owed someone was no excuse to do something you weren't okay with. Maybe this incident would get that through his head. "He threatened me, kept me from screaming for help, and chased me to prevent me from escaping," I said carefully.

Ounabara huffed again. I was starting to get really sick of the whole 'take a beating or you're weak' mentality around here. I mean, given the Eleventh's mentality it wasn't too surprising, but still. It came as no surprise when he said, "Nanase, meal duty for the next month. Ishimori-sensei, notify the rest of the Zanjutsu staff that if any shinai require maintenance that they should ask Nanase Hibiki for assistance and expect to receive it."

"Sir," Ishimori said dutifully, backing out of the office to carry out the order.

I couldn't help the question that slipped from my lips. "What about Yamada-senpai and Shiba-sama?" I had to force Isshin's honorific. He didn't deserve it with his conduct.

"Shiba-sama will be spoken to," Ounabara said after a moment. I bit my lip. Nothing in his tone said any action would be taken. Damn his rank. Well, he'd straightened out without me around, so that was slightly reassuring. "Yamada will receive caning and have his Zanpakutou broken."

My jaw dropped. "Sir! You- please don't do that to him!"

He glared down at me. "And what makes you think you have any sway over the administration? I fear no Hirako. And I see no reason why his conduct should not be punished as such. He isn't yet a Shinigami. The rules of conduct do not apply to his blade. Rather, he'll learn new respect for it and the duty it represents. The healing will remind him of how a Shinigami should act."

I gritted my teeth. Regardless of how he'd acted, I couldn't let Seinosuke's Zanpakutou be broken. Maybe Seinosuke deserved it, but his Zanpakutou spirit didn't and neither of them deserved to be cut off from each other, even temporarily. And his reiatsu... maybe it was just my imagination, but he felt like the kudzu that had always choked gardens back home, a stranglehold on anywhere that could support him, simply looking to climb higher than his classmates. Seinosuke was desperate and nasty, but he was also insecure and subject to at least a little ridicule from his peers because of me. "Sir? He acted against me." I put on my best fancy noble attitude. "Therefore, with all due respect, I think I deserve to have a say in his punishment. Caning, yes. But he shouldn't be cut off from his sword's spirit." I fingered my asauchi's hilt. "It hurts Zanpakutou and Shinigami to be broken. Yamada-senpai... I don't think he deserves the punishment a Shinigami would get from a court martial. Let him apologize to me. After that, I could say whether he deserves further punishment."

Ounabara sneered. "The pain is precisely why he deserves to have his Zanpakutou broken, Hirako." He paused, stony expression shifting to something more unreadable. "But you have a point. He does not deserve treatment as a full Shinigami. That is far too dignified. In that vein, I will permit your impudence this once. He may apologize to you. Then you will recount the incident to me and I will decide his punishment. Nanase, Hirako, you're dismissed."

"Sir," we said in unison, like the debatably good little students we were, and backed out of the room.

The gong for the next period sounded as we made our way out of the building. I blinked, trying to figure out where I was in relation to everything. The problem with knowing where I was going based on turns was that I didn't have any clue how to get anywhere from a different starting point.

"Sorry."

I whipped around to find Nanase staring at the ground. "Huh?" I asked.

He flushed. "I- Beating you up wasn't my idea. But I still figured- Sorry, okay?" Nanase's eyes flicked up to me, pleading as the eyes of the red, curly-tailed puppies that'd been born shortly before Shinji and I left for Shin'ou. Shame I didn't really like dogs.

 _He's trying to cover his own skin in case you try to get revenge. You know you could, 'Nariko-daoshi,_ ' the cynical part of me snapped, and oh, I wanted to listen to it. Embers of anger still smoldered in my chest, ready to be fanned back into fire.

 _He is brave enough to apologize, though,_ the idealistic part replied, and I wanted to listen to it too. I liked to think I was at least a little nice.

 _Just take him at face value_ , a third mental voice advised. _He'll like you better if you seem approachable and forgiving. Could help in the future. And really, can you bring yourself to be cruel to a boy as pathetic as this?_

When had I gotten so many voices in my head? Still, the third voice was right. Nanase's reiatsu rubbed on mine, a stray cat begging for scraps, and I couldn't bring myself to be needlessly snobby. Turn the other cheek, another voice whispered, but it was a memory, not a thought.

I smiled at him, the last vestiges of anger draining away. "Hey, I lived, and I've still got this." I patted my brush case. Internally, I frowned. 'Approachable and forgiving' weren't synonymous with 'vaguely passive and ineffectual,' which my words sounded like even to me. "Nanase-san? Piece of advice—find better friends. Or I can't guarantee that we won't be on opposite sides again." I let my cheery tone and smile fade.

The pleading-dog look dropped away. "Ah, that's a tall order," he muttered, words stretching just a hair into a long-buried Northern dialect. "Gangs are just about set in stone past first year, an'- and I'm third. Kinda lacking in the noble parents' friends' kids department, not like you." A bitter half-smile touched his lips.

I restrained the urge to roll my eyes. He had a point about cliques settling very quickly in first year—Soul Society ran on organizing everything and everyone into groups, whether clans or districts, so it only made sense that students would sort themselves into groups too. It was an extraordinarily helpful system for dealing with the celestial bureaucracy, allowing for networks of favors and alliances to get paperwork expedited, even cross-division. Unfortunately, as with Nanase, it tended to screw over anyone who wasn't aware of its existence in the first place, mostly the Rukongai-born

He did not, however, have much of an excuse when it came to noble parents. My social circle was composed of my brother, our roommates, and the kid I was tutoring in Japanese. I supposed one could stretch it by saying I only knew Shinji because of my parents, but seeing as they were the same... not really.

"Then come hang out with mine." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, but the second the sentence finished I wanted to stuff them back in. Minoru was one thing, being someone I actually liked, but not only did I barely know Nanase, I didn't much like him. _Oh well_ , I consoled myself. _Maybe he'll say no_.

Nanase's eyes went wide, then narrowed again as he reassumed the defensive facade that seemed to serve him as a shield against his classmates. "Sure! If it's not too much trouble, that is," he added almost as an afterthought.

Dammit. What'd I been thinking, making an offer like that to a kid who I'd seen from the beginning wanted to fit in? Well, at least he'd be graduating in four years. My manners took over for my reluctant mind. "We usually eat in the Suishou dining hall," I heard my voice say. "It's near the south side of campus."

Nanase's eyes flicked over in that direction. He nodded. "Then I'll see you there!" He bounded off to his next class, heedless of his broken nose.

I recovered control of my body, nodding belatedly. What was done was done. He couldn't possibly be that bad, anyway, and with Aizen, Minoru, and Shinju on occasion, there were too many shrinking violets in my group anyway.

I very carefully didn't tell Shinji I'd been in another fight when we next saw each other. He could laugh off an isolated incident, a fight I'd won, but Shinji would destroy Seinosuke, Nanase, and Isshin if I told him, rules and teachers be damned. A Hirako he might be, but Shinji was just as much a teenage boy, with all the hormones and aggression that involved. No wonder the other clans thought of Shihouin-serving clans as loose cannons. Smoke and mirrors, up until you pissed us off, then a hurricane touched down and when the dust cleared a broken body was all to show for it.

Yeah, people generally decided it was in their best interests to at least fake nice with us. Keeping that in mind, I decided it was in Nanase's best interest that I didn't tell Shinji that he'd been stupid enough not to play nice.

"Heard hide nor hair of your Zanpakutou spirit, Nari-nee?" Shinji drawled, plucking at grass intent on worming its way between the paving stones. "I woulda thought it'd warm right up t'a sword nerd like you."

I stuck my tongue out at him. We sat in the Mizuchi courtyard, which had replaced our usual classroom as we began to focus more and more on hajimezen and less and less on the theory of a Zanapakutou. It wasn't like they'd taught us much beyond the basics, but still. I liked wrangling theory. "Oh, shut up. It doesn't work like that, idiot."

Shinji raised an eyebrow. "More brilliant insights, sister-mine? Do tell." A casual observer wouldn't have noticed the genuine curiosity in Shinji's voice; as it was I barely noticed that he wasn't asking out of boredom. _Someone's impatient_ , I thought, hiding a smile. _Teachers bugging you about your potential yet, Shinji?_

I shrugged. "Specifics?"

He rolled his eyes at me. "Well, if Zanpakutou spirits don't work like that, how do they work?"

To that I had to shrug. Canon Bleach provided me with no information on that subject, nor did the library. And for all their talk about Zanpakutou, scholars tended to focus more on the end result rather than their formation. "Magic?" I joked, laughing at the bad joke. "No, but seriously, Shin, I'm not completely sure. I just know that they don't come with spirits that 'warm up' to their wielder." I bumped him with my shoulder and nearly got knocked over by his retaliatory bump. "I guess that's why we begin with hajimezen, no pun intended. Can't meet a spirit before you've made it."

Shinji cocked his head. "Eh? Now you're just teasin'. We're in our first years and makin' sword spirits? Yeah, right. Nobody's even takin' it seriously. Nobody but my idiot sister, anyway."

I ripped up a tuft of grass and tossed it at him. Grass being grass, though, it made it about an inch before drifting to the ground. We stared at it for a second before bursting out laughing.

"Ha! Ya couldn't even manage somethin' simple as that? Bet ya can't even whistle!" Shinji gasped.

I glared at him, rubbing my aching sides. "Hey! It's not my fault I paid attention to my lessons, instead of skipping them to learn how to whistle!"

"It's completely yer fault!" Shinji said, still chuckling. "Now stop laughin' an' answer my question!"

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Pot, kettle. Anyway, I already did. The spirits form from getting our reiryoku imbued into them. Like when we're putting our hands on them and focusing." I held up one hand, briefly calling aqua light to it. "Takes longer or shorter times depending on the person. But eventually the asauchi learn who we are and form spirits." I leaned in, glancing around to make sure Oshiro wasn't paying attention to us. I wasn't sure he knew where the infirmary was—he'd been out sick a few more times since our discussion in the courtyard. "You know how sensei says we're supposed to be mastering our Zanpakutou? Telling them what we want? He's wrong. It's not some kind of pet and master relationship. Or slave and master; that's probably better 'cause they're sentient. It's a partnership."

Shinji studied me, grin shrinking slightly as he grew serious. "A partnership, when I'm the one holdin' the sword?"

I huffed. "A partnership, 'cause you don't get a sword unless the Zanpakutou agrees."

"It's not proper for you to be questioning teachers like that," Wakahisa Momohiko interrupted. Even if the reeking wintergreen oil that slicked his hair back into an uber-traditional topknot and his reiatsu, intrusive and cool like the stench of mint, hadn't given him away, I would've known him by the drawn-out, sanctimonious way he talked. Rumor had it that more than a few Wakahisa sat behind the screens of the Central 46. A common saying in Soul Society was that eternal life begot eternal life, referring to the meaning of their name, though it meant that a Wakahisa could be trusted to deliver a fair judgment. In Soul Society, that meant that the order of life, the totalitarian government, was preserved. Out of the few Wakahisa I knew, Momohiko was the only one who jumped right to judging people, so I supposed the saying was mostly true.

"Screw off, Wakahisa," Shinji said, giving precisely zero fucks about our classmate's rank. No, that wasn't completely true—Shinji clearly gave at least one fuck, since he'd substituted 'screw.' "There's nothin' criminal goin' on over here."

Momohiko sniffed, looking over us as if he expected that we'd be hiding drugs in our shitagi. "Better to avert future crimes and quash insurrection's beginnings."

"Do ya even hear yerself?" Shinji demanded, twisting around to glare up at Momohiko. "Ya sound like somethin' outta some Noh play. We're just talkin' school. Shoo, Wakahisa."

Wakahisa glared back, but Oshiro was beginning to herd us into lines. "You can't get away with defiant thoughts just because of your clan, Hirako. Innocent now, but they'll fester and grow into a radical infection later. See that your sister learns that." He stalked away to take his place at the head of a line.

I shuddered as I took my place. Momohiko had stopped just short of saying the most dangerous word in Soul Society: treason. If this hadn't been an argument between children, the implication of treason from one of the Great Noble Clans would've made my life very unpleasant, if not gotten me disappeared in the night. With that in mind, I followed every one of Oshiro's instructions that day. A good, dutiful, perfectly noble girl, nothing for Wakahisa to remember. I didn't see him leave from class, so I had to hope that he hadn't given me a dirty look before going on his way. Conflict gave me headaches.

"Nariko-san." Shit. My least favorite person in the world at the moment. I turned to face Oshiro, plastering a smile on my face. The honorific change couldn't mean anything good.

"Hi, Oshiro-sensei," I said. "Can I help you?"

"I thought we might have that talk I mentioned," he said, pleasant smile affixed. "Unless you're eager to go to Zanjutsu 1?"

I buried my unease at the fact that he knew which class I had next and shook my head. "Not terribly," I lied. Truth was, I'd rather flee, but I couldn't put off facing Oshiro forever. I should just get it over with.

"Well-" He broke off, coughing. Oshiro fumbled for a second with a pouch tied to his obi before pulling out a paper handkerchief. I would've called it a tissue, but that was an idea I associated with soft things stored in boxes. The square he pulled out was rather stiffer and off-white. Oshiro coughed into it, then stuffed the handkerchief into a separate pouch. For a second I thought I saw a spot of red on the handkerchief, but a second later Oshiro was tying the disposal pouch shut again and it vanished from view. "Nariko-san, let's take a seat. I've felt unwell lately and I'd rather not fall and take you down with me." He sat, patting the stone beside him. I hesitantly lowered myself to the ground, folding my legs beside me.

"So what is it you wanted?" If there was an edge to my voice, I didn't care. Oshiro could say all he wanted about the right way to study, but I knew what I knew. Oshiro could tell me what to do, and I'd do it for a while, but I couldn't make myself ignore the truth forever.

"To begin with, I thought I'd ask about your experience when you received your asauchi. There's a certain way it's supposed to go and I'd like to know if anything that could impede your progress happened. I've noticed a difference between your meditation and those of the other students," Oshiro said.

I shuffled my feet, blushing. It was private, like Nimaiya had said, but there was no good reason not to tell him. "I walked into the tent, then he got mad at me. Um, Ikeda-san did. And-"

"Why?" Oshiro interrupted. The hungry expression from that day had returned.

"Because I knew his name. His real name. He was Nimaiya Ouetsu-sama." It was easy, now that I'd said that, to let the wallflower act go. "And he wanted to know how I knew it, and didn't believe me when I told him how."

Oshiro had gone very pale. "Nariko-san," he said, turning to look at me like he'd never seen me before in his life, "how on earth did you know the name of a Shinigami of- of his rank?"

I swallowed hard, looking down at my hands, folded in my lap. I lifted one surreptitiously, let it fall. My body at least had inherited the Hirako love of irony—my hands shook sometimes even when I was calm, but were completely still when I was stressed. "I...um," I said eloquently, trying to find an explanation. Oshiro being a teacher, he would probably know that the Shin'ou library contained nothing on Nimaiya and I highly doubted that he'd believe that I knew just because of my clan. "He was strong," I said lamely. "Captain-class strong, but not wearing a haori. So he couldn't have been a regular captain. I... you know I like to study. I studied history back home. And..." Shit. I did not, in fact, have the slightest clue about the records of past captains. I didn't even know whether Nimaiya had been a captain, since Yamamoto had founded the Gotei 13 and had a Zanpakutou. "Nimaiya-sama was mentioned in one of my books about early history as the inventor of Zanpakutou, so I guessed it was him. I was right."

"And the God of the Swords noticed you," Oshiro said, apparently stuck on that point. Had it really been necessary to provide an explanation at all? "He noticed you, and said... tell me exactly what he said, as far as you can remember it."

"I already did," I mumbled, chin out mulishly. "He wanted me not to conform. And he didn't want me looking at the asauchi with my reiatsu because he thought they wouldn't take to the right people."

"You're sure he said that," Oshiro said, pupils almost consuming his irises and inky reiatsu moving over mine like octopus tentacles, fluid yet sticky. "Sure that you were examining the blades with your reiatsu, that Nimaiya-dono thought doing so would quicken them?"

I resisted the urge to snark at him and didn't quite succeed. "Uh, yeah. I know what I did and what I heard."

Oshiro didn't seem to notice the exasperation in my voice, staring off into the horizon. "Scores of students through this school, through my classes, and no others who could speak and listen..." He shook his head, a few purple strands drifting to the ground and some of his usual vibrance returning. "Nariko-san! I'm sure you don't talk to your other teachers like that," Oshiro scolded belatedly.

I squeaked. _Note to self: You do not have Shinji's talent for getting out of trouble._ "Er, sorry, sensei. Did you actually want to talk to me about my study habits?"

He nodded, slipping his hands into his sleeves. "You learn mostly from books, correct?" At my nod, he continued, "Book learning is all well and good, Nariko-san, but it's far different from practical learning. I worry that it's encouraging ideas in you that won't pan out." A wry smile touched Oshiro's lips. "You wouldn't have realized this, but you have the highest grades in my class—even with that sub-par essay on Ryuujin Jakka."

My face burned. "Sorry about that. It was a stupid choice."

Oshiro's smile widened. "At least you realize it. My point, Nariko-san, is that so far I've primarily graded you on theory. The actual matter of your Zanpakutou is a very different thing. And the fact that your brother listens to you... he has a lot of potential." _And you'll ruin it,_ was left unspoken.

I gritted my teeth. "What about his potential? If you're going to say he's stronger than me, I know. Everyone says it." If he was going to dance around what he wanted me to say, I'd have to play the book-smart-but-people-dumb teenager—not a hard act—with a dash of inferiority complex.

Oshiro fell for it, voice softening. "That's true, but it's not what I meant. Nariko-san, you have more influence over your brother than you know. But to put it politely, your ideas are... unorthodox. The Shin'ou way of thinking is that Zanpakutou spirits are to be subjugated, turned to the will of the Shinigami, or they grow unruly and work against their wielders." His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword.

Twisting, tearing metal drowned out whatever Oshiro said next. My hands flew up to cover my ears on instinct, but the sound went on and on, screaming past the protection of my hands. I cringed, casting my eyes around for the idiot who'd decided to turn the Academy into a forge. _Cut it out!_ I shrieked in my head.

Then silence. Beautiful, a-thousand-times-blessed silence. Except for Oshiro repeating my name, calloused hand around my wrist.

"-iko-san?" He asked as my hearing came back, releasing me. "Are you feeling alright?"

I nodded, hands falling back into my lap and pieces falling into place. I swallowed before I spoke, a lump in my throat. Terrific. Auditory hallucinations. Which made the voices from before decidedly not a fluke and me at least a little crazy. "Migraine," I half-lied. A lie because in this life I didn't get migraines, true because a headache had begun to pound in my temples. "Not a bad one."

Oshiro nodded sympathetically. "Then I'll finish up my advice to you and let you go to the infirmary." So he did know where it was, which begged the question of why he didn't stop by. Then again, I'd never seen anyone sick in the infirmary, just injured... "I understand that your clan's policies of child rearing are... permissive, that one of its tenets is independence. And I understand also that one of your clan's chief industries is information. In light of those facts, I decided to allow your independent studies, but the point where I can safely do that is past. You must turn to discipline if you want-"

I'd heard enough. "Why? If I don't do it the way you do and my Zanpakutou turns out wrong, then it's my fault. My blood'll be on my own head. No loss to you. It's my soul," I said, jaw tight.

Oshiro's frown was sharp enough to cut diamonds. "And you're my student!" He exclaimed. "I can't consciously allow you to fall short of your potential! Nariko-san, I understand that you're young. You think you know what's best for yourself and go down that path heedless of tradition, of what generations upon generations of Shinigami have proven to be the better way." He sighed, tension not quite draining from his form. "I didn't want to do this, but I'm banning you from the library. The librarians know your face by now; they can keep you out. Nariko-san, I overheard Wakahisa-sama's words to you earlier. You'd do well to take them to heart. Rebellious thoughts becomes rebellious actions when they're allowed to persist. I... I won't allow the mind of my best student to be shut away because I didn't cut out the roots of anarchy in her heart. We need Shinigami like you, Nariko-san. We need as much strength as we can gather. And if you hone yours as I instruct, you could be a true force for the good of Soul Society." His expression took on a dark edge. "Perhaps... perhaps you could come to me for private instruction if you're so eager to advance."

I knew I shouldn't fall for the flattery, for the doing-whats-best-for-you line, but the stubborn anger in me crumbled anyway. I'd judged what was best for Hiyori and Shinji and the rest. Oshiro was just doing the same, even if he really was wrong. But the library... I needed the library. Needed somewhere to get away from the bustle of students, from quiet killing auras around kids younger than Shinji that didn't bother anyone else, from the work I had to do, from my friends when I didn't have the energy to be a good friend to them. "Okay," I said, voice strangled by a tight throat. "I-I'm going to go to Zanjutsu now. Thanks for the advice, sensei."

* * *

My Zanjutsu teacher nearly gave me a demerit for missing half the lesson, but a few of my Zanpakutou classmates, including Momohiko, were in my Zanjutsu class and they vouched for Oshiro having called me aside after class. Momohiko, I noted, looked as though he thought I'd taken my sweet time getting to my next class. Jerk.

Zanjutsu went as it usually did. Despite our asauchi, we stuck strictly to bokken and shinai, which left their fair share of welts on me, also as usual. See, when I said my Zanjutsu skills were decent for my year, that was true, but decent was subpar in this class. Nobody was good enough for Zanjutsu 2, but most had gotten some form of sword training before coming here, which was more than I had. Shinji might've been taught some kendo—he'd certainly spent more time being tutored than me—but given our clan's focus on Hakuda I doubted it had been enough to bump him up to Zanjutsu 2.

I licked away sweat as we returned our shinai to the rack along the wall. Kakari-geiko, I felt sure, wasn't meant to build our stamina or encourage our attacking mindset like they claimed. That was just a front so they could tire us out too much to retaliate for the endless drills. It hadn't helped that I'd been paired with Momohiko, who'd seemed hellbent on battering my shinai as hard as humanly possible. I flexed my hands, feeling the soreness of rubbed-raw skin there.

"Your defense isn't worth speaking of, Hirako," Momohiko said, coming up beside me and putting his own shinai away.

"So they keep telling me," I replied, half-turning to face him. "Do you want something?"

"I merely thought that Oshiro-sensei in his meeting with you had echoed my earlier advice to your brother from your demeanor," he said. "Did he visit a proper punishment upon you?"

I deliberately shoved away my fantasy of seizing a bokken and cracking Momohiko's skull, smiling thinly so he didn't get the idea that I was going to take his holier-than-thou attitude, even if my hands were tied by our relative ranks and location. "The punishment he 'visited upon me' is none of your business," I told him, leaving a deliberate pause before I added, "Wakahisa-sama."

He flushed livid pink. _Ooh, peach-boy's got a temper_ , I thought, smile widening. "You- you little-"

"Problem, Wakahisa-sama, Hirako?" The instructor called.

"No, sensei," we said in unison, waiting until he'd wandered away before returning to our verbal spar.

"Leave me alone," I hissed. "You think I disagree with the party line? Sorry, but just 'cause I don't agree with one teacher doesn't mean I don't want to serve the Gotei 13 as much as you." Correlation is not causation, a voice from the past whispered, and I had to hide a smirk. The chance that I wanted to be a Shinigami as much as the rabid Momohiko was about the same as a snowball's in hell, but that was beside the point.

"I believe in no coincidences, Hirako," Momohiko said. "Certainly not that you've taken in a Rukongai urchin and a boy whose origins are not listed even in the records of the school, and a girl beneath another clan besides!"

'Taken in'? Was he nuts? 'Taken in,' like Minoru was my pet? And was he referring to Aizen? _Something to look into,_ I mused as I fought giggles. "You're not one of those, are you, Wakahisa-sama?" I asked, not even having to fake my scorn. "The people who think that clans should stay within their lands? There's a word for them." I leaned in close, sweat tasting for all the world like snake venom, like the way I wanted my words to sound to Momohiko. "Inbred," I stage-whispered. Smiling thinly again, I pulled back. "But I'm sure you're not-"

"Shut up, Hirako," Momohiko snarled. "It is in the self-interest you have so much of to not want me as your enemy."

My eyes widened, my whole face going slack with innocence, so much innocence a newborn lamb would've vomited. "I said I was sure you weren't like that, Wakahisa-sama," I said, a strange feeling filling my chest. Not nervousness, or fear, or anger, but like all of those. It was a little like adrenaline, some bizarre chemical courage that let me say very Shinji-like things while staying me. Or maybe just plain idiocy.

Momohiko's face twisted, making me very happy that I had a lifetime of experience with insults and that my opponent was only a kid. Give him a few years and he'd be able to find every chink in my armor, but for now I had the advantage. "You think your cleverness is unparalleled, when the truth is your cleverness is not enough to let you win a battle when it matters. Everyone knows you won your fight with Yamada by luck and they saw you run from him a second time. A coward and a rebel. Puffed-up speech means nothing to a real combatant."

The feeling in my chest vanished, replaced by a hollow, cold sensation. Knife, meet chink. Kids were staring now. Whispering. The teacher was oblivious, congratulating some exceptional student across the room. My hand closed around my asauchi's hilt. I wanted to be noticed, but not like this. Never like this. I could practically hear the gears turning in my classmates' heads, opinion of me dropping by the second, and I couldn't do anything to stop it.

"That hit the mark, did it not?" Momohiko said, voice soft and tone hard, glass shards in honey. "Now consider that that is mercy. You may rethink your life and turn yet to an orderly life. But there is no remedy for fear." He paused, blue-grey eyes expectant. "Well, Hirako? Thank me for the advice."

"Thank you," I mumbled, tongue thick and heavy. _You bastard,_ I added in my head. Himura could take my time, Oshiro my library refuge, but Momohiko alone laid claim to my bravado. I blinked back hot tears—I refused to cry!—and took a deep, shuddering breath. If Momohiko noticed, he gave no sign, turning on his heel and following my classmates out. I registered dully that the gong had rung, feet mechanically leading me out after them.

I could've headed back to my room—the only place I had left to go—but I wasn't in the mood for Shinju's well-meaning fussing today. I wanted Shinji, with all his irritatingly funny quips and seeming inability to be sad, but I had no clue where he was and by the time I found him I'd be back to normal. Prolonged sadness wasn't something I did, whether in this life or Before. And besides, if I went to find Shinji, I'd end up forgetting an idea that had come to me on the way out of the training hall.

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. I couldn't do anything about that on my own, but I knew who could.

* * *

"Himura-sensei?" I said, pausing on the threshold of his training hall.

Himura didn't so much as twitch. He'd probably sensed me coming. "What do you want?" He asked.

I grimaced at having been seen through so easily. "You don't have a class today, right? Except me." I clenched my fists, still sore from Zanjutsu. "Can we move my lesson to now?"

He raised a dark brow. "Depends. Why?"

I shoved down my pride and lifted my chin. "You were right. I'm scared to fight when it matters. I want to be- not scared."

Himura's grin was tight with satisfaction. "The word you want is brave. I can't teach you to be brave. Nobody can, not even you. But I can teach you what to do about fear and how to look a damn lot braver than you do now."

I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. "Then I can learn."


	7. Moon Ripples on Ink

My opponent came at me with the speed and force of a train. I stumbled back, escaping his punch by an inch. A twist into a horse stance brought my shoulder to a right angle with his body—I briefly thought of slamming him with my shoulder but swung my forearm into his instead. Fuck, he's more solid than he looks-! I threw that out of my mind and twisted my arm into a reverse hammer punch at his groin-

Thump. I blinked up at a white-painted ceiling, trying to figure out where I'd gone wrong as I gasped for air that wouldn't come. Himura's smirking face interrupted my view. I wrinkled my nose at him. Teachers weren't supposed to be smug. Still, I took the hand he offered and yanked myself up.

To Himura's credit, he let me walk around, hands on my head, to get my breath back instead of getting right back to training. I'd expected him to be relentless and student-crushing, but Himura hadn't gotten where he was by being stupid. People couldn't hone themselves after being broken, he said, and continuing training when hurt constituted broken in his book.

"Forget you had legs, Hirako? Always the legs-or-arms dilemma with you." He snorted, loudly enough that I expected smoke to puff from his nostrils. "You have a whole body, not a half one. Same for me." His smirk widened into a grin that I had to admit he'd earned the right to wear. I should've expected his spoon sweep. That I hadn't... it didn't make me feel too great inside. I prided myself on being honest as much as I did on being observant. And if I was honest, I wasn't as observant as I thought I was.

I nodded, dismissing my doubts and still trying to suck in some air. "She better be coming soon," I half-gasped, half-said, referring to the student he'd dragged into teaching me.

Himura huffed. "Can't take it?"

 _Uh, no, I can't take a guy who could wipe the floor with a seventh-year,_ I thought, but shrugged at him. Actively disagreeing with teachers rubbed me the wrong way, but sometimes it was just as dangerous to agree with them. Dangerous in this case meaning that Himura would make me do exercises until I was too weak to lift my brush.

We waited about five minutes for me to get my breath back. Memories of winding other people trickled back as I paced around the training hall. I almost cringed, but it was more a reflexive embarrassment for an idiotic past self than anything else. Looking back felt more like I'd read about someone else than having actually lived that life. I didn't have to remind myself as I once had that I wasn't that person anymore. I had enough control not to knock the air out of someone unless I chose to, at least. Hey, thinking about that, Himura had to have winded me deliberately. Jerk.

"I'm here, sensei!" A girl sailed in, and all my thoughts flew out of my head, because she was gorgeous. No ifs, ands, or buts, and I could say that having seen some top-notch fanart of Yoruichi and Unohana. I sucked in a breath. Speaking of memories... brilliant crimson hair, roughly an inch shorter than me, with laugh-crinkled brown eyes and a borderline-childishly round face. Himura couldn't have picked someone worse suited to me if he'd tried. And by 'worse suited' I meant 'best suited to my tastes and probably horribly distracting.'

Well, I hadn't decided to embrace training with Himura because of pretty girls. I was going to focus on learning, dammit.

Wait. Himura'd said something to me. An introduction. I offered him my best 'sorry for being an idiot' smile. "Um, what?"

Himura pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, she's always like this," he told the redhead, then turned back to me. "Hirako Nariko, meet Choujuno Akane, the one Kidou Corps brat who can give an onmitsu a run for their money in Hakuda. Apparently she didn't get herself disappeared."

 _Wait, what?_ I filed that away before Akane could make me forget that too, just in time for her to turn a wide grin on me. "Only because they're lazy," she assured me with a toss of the head. I fought back the urge to tuck the strands of red that drifted loose from her bun, pinned in place with two silver and blue kanzashi. Not a popular day-to-day choice around here, but she was a Kidou Corps hopeful. They weren't always the most realistic people, as her word choice indicated. Onmitsu didn't do lazy. Careless, stupid, arrogant, messy, maybe, but only in their private lives. Sui-Feng and Yoruichi hadn't gotten where they were by slacking off.

I skimmed my reiatsu over hers as she bounced off to remove her waraji and kanzashi. What I found made my eyebrows fly up. Besides Akane's own reiatsu, smooth, bright, and colorful like stained glass, something she was carrying rang with the pattern of Kidou. It was barely distinguishable from her own power—definitely self-made and not too powerful, but still. Really, really cool.

Himura folded his arms. "First thoughts?" He asked. A test. Eww. But it was a chance to feel a little better about my observational skills.

I took a deep breath, slotting things I'd noticed and background knowledge into place. A specialist in Kidou, with her clan beneath the Wakahisa and only slightly less powerful than them, so... "An endurance fighter. Graceful, good footwork if I know their style, but... you wouldn't have chosen her if she was conventional. She knows grappling too, I bet. Choujuno-san seems very... aware." That was obvious from her kanzashi alone: kogai kanzashi with hydrangea-patterned sheaths and streamers of willow leaves trailing from the ends. They were the sort of ornaments that only someone well-versed in seasonal fashion would wear.

Clattering metal interrupted my thoughts. Himura and I glanced over to find a small pile of knives as the noise's source, Akane standing above them with her sleeves rolled up.

"I thought they were better-secured!" She called over without a hint of shame before going back to what was apparently an extended disarming, untying the cords that had secured the knives.

"You said she wanted to go into the Kidou Corps," I accused, lowering my voice.

Himura didn't lower his, barking a laugh. "And now you know what they use instead of Zanpakutou. Good job she doesn't have a sword yet."

I frowned. "But you just said they don't have Zanpakutou."

"I'd tell you to go look it up if rumor didn't have it that you were banned from the libraries." A slight frown crossed Himura's face at that. "The onmitsu don't like Zanpakutou because it interferes with reiatsu-cloaking and the Kidou Corps don't like 'em because it messes with the kind of Kidou they can do. Hence knives like those." He nodded over at Akane's miniature armory, more knives being added to it as we spoke. "Forged so you can channel Kidou and strengthen 'em with your reiatsu. Pretty useful, except they like to explode when Zanpakutou users try them."

Well. There went the plan of 'weaponize all my kanzashi.'

"Anything to add now that you know how much metal she carts around?" Himura asked, eyes bright.

"She's either paranoid or she really likes to show off," I said. "Sorry, I forgot you called that being ready."

Himura scowled. "I can send her away if you want to keep being a smart-ass."

"No!" I burst out more quickly than I'd intended. "I'm good. Really, sensei, I am."

Was his resting face a smirk? I had to think so as it shifted from annoyance to smugness again. "Then wrap up all your little points and tell me what she's gonna do and what you're gonna do about it. Better do it quick; she's almost done."

I resisted the temptation to stick my tongue out. I did need to be more concise. "She'll make it hard for me to land a clean hit." That was more of a Kidou Corps trait than anything, though. If they got hit mid-chant, or just got hit at all, they tended to be well and truly fucked. "And probably try to get me on the ground or get in close. So I have to stay light on my feet. Don't know what I can do about her forcing me to the ground, except fight dirty." And by fight dirty, I meant headbutt her, bite her, or even take a crotch-shot. Maybe she didn't have dangly bits, but that meant precisely jack if I wanted her off me bad enough. Not that having her on me would be too objectionable... I shook that thought away.

Akane bounced over, hair now corralled into a bun by a ribbon. "There we go!" She chirped. "So, wanna get this started? I'll only use kicks if you want me to. Handicap and all that."

My liking of her soured slightly at that. Maybe Himura hadn't told her about me. I was Hirako Nariko. Nobody went easy on me. "I'm fine," I said, voice deliberately cool. Damn, it was hard to be mad at her. "What style do you practice again?" I didn't really want to leap into things if I had some more background knowledge to use.

Akane smiled brightly. "Spring Butterfly!"

Wait, what? I didn't- _Hands up, she's got hers up!_

I sprang back as she snapped a kick into where my stomach would've been, arms swinging down in a motion I'd never seen before. Like a butterfly, I thought with faint admiration, shuffling back to avoid her effortless waxing crescent kick as Akane switched legs. Two could play at that game. I stepped in and pivoted to snap my own waxing crescent at her back. Akane's hand closed around my ankle for a second before she twirled away, all-too-adorable grin on her face.

She probably expected me to hesitate, to wait for her to make the first real move so we could have a staredown. Too bad. I spun on my front foot, sparing a look over my shoulder to make sure Akane hadn't skipped back, and thrust my other heel back, snapping it into her side. Or at least I intended to—she slid in, grabbed my leg with one hand, and shoved me hard with the other.

Bam. On my back again. I rolled out of the way as Akane dropped into a crouch where I'd been. _Not today!_ I crowed mentally, scrambling to my feet. I didn't know what kind of hold she would've put me in. I didn't want to find out. My muscles already ached from the rapid-fire exchange. Akane, on the other hand, looked as fresh as she had when we'd begun. Not even a hair out of place.

 _I'm going to change that._ I lunged in—one step, two!—and threw a punch at her face. Predictably, Miss Sticky-Hands caught it—but not my knee to her groin. She yelped, half-doubling over before recovering herself and snapping a chicken wrist into my chin. Stars flashed in my vision as I snapped my head back. I leaped back, blinking them away. I had a second of downtime before Akane lunged in, face flushed and twisted with anger.

I'd remembered her weakness: pride. Her moves were showy to the point of telegraphing. Not an obstacle for a fighter with enough reiryoku—couldn't hit someone using Houhou to go faster than you could see. Which was unfortunately the case with Akane. Instead of slowing down, she'd sped up. My body burned hotter with every hand strike and kick I knocked away. Too fast. Too damn fast.

I set my jaw as she stepped just out of range of my forearm smash. _Toying with me!_ I shouted in my head. _Going easy! No one does that to me!_

Except she could. My arms and legs felt like lead pipes. Every breath caught in my throat. I could see the satisfaction written on Akane's face as she paused, smile still in place. I'd been wrong. All she had to do was tire me out. But she'd been moving around as much as me. Why wasn't she tired? Endurance fighter didn't cover it.

 _Whatever. No one beat me this easily. I'm going to beat Aizen. You aren't him!_ I scrabbled for my reiryoku, ready to shunt some to my legs, and yanked.

Funny, how two steps became one long, smooth leap. How my ridge hand to her temple practically blurred, heedless of my fatigue. How Akane's smile vanished for an instant before her hands snatched my collar, foot planting itself on my stomach, and rolled backwards.

Oh. Ow. All at once I was staring up at a round, smiling face. Her red hair, falling into my face, smelled faintly of jasmine, I noted distantly.

"Still got what I wanted," I managed after a second. "Your hair's out of place."

Her eyes going wide, Akane laughed, standing and offering me a hand up. I took it, conscious of how warm and small it was, and heaved myself to my feet. She opened her mouth to say something-

"Houhou," Himura interrupted. "You've got that, but not lasting through a fight?"

My eyes slid over to him. "Shifting Moon isn't great at endurance," I mumbled before my ears caught up. "Wait, what? Houhou?"

Himura gave me a long look, then started chuckling, shaking his head. "Figures. You got that by accident. Usually it's the other way around, but... huh. Guess we'll work on endurance first."

Akane's smile widened. "I forgot first-years learn how to move their reiryoku before they learn how to use it for anything practical. I learned how to use it for stamina the hard way." She grimaced, rubbing scarred knuckles. "Piece of advice: don't annoy your teachers so much that they make you clean the Kidou ranges while they're being used."

I giggled, wiping sweat off of the back of my neck. "Advice taken. So I used Houhou accidentally?" Makes sense that Aizen would know how, then. Only he'd figure out something after doing it by accident.

Himura nodded. "Better be glad Choujuno knows a bit of it."

She made a face. "Alright, I kinda started using it after you took that crotch shot. Not fair," she complained.

I made a face back. "Neither was attacking me before I was ready."

Akane frowned. "In real life no one's going to warn you before attacking!" She pointed out, folding her arms.

I mirrored her, ignoring the way the fabric clung to my skin. "In real life people are going to fight dirty," I replied.

Himura stepped in. "Girls," he warned.

Mindful of that tone, we froze.

He let us stew for a second before laughing, low and harsh. "You're both right. Choujuno, that sacrifice throw was stupid, effective or not. A Hollow'd see a downed Shinigami and snap you up in a heartbeat. And you still need to work on telegraphing. Hirako, your stamina is pathetic, but the feinting worked well. If Choujuno hadn't started on the Houhou, you might've won. Might've," he stressed. "There's never certainty in a fight. Alright, Choujuno, you and I are going to demonstrate a basic throw for Hirako..."

* * *

"Hey! Do you guys want to start a study group?"

The speaker was Nanase, at his bubbly best. Unfortunately, he endeared himself to exactly no one by asking at breakfast. Shinju and I managed something unintelligible, while whatever Minoru would've said was cut off by a yawn. Aizen didn't even respond. Apart from his inhaling of food, it was hard to tell if he was awake at all.

My dear brother, on the other hand, perked up. "Study group? I could use that!" He said.

I dredged my brain out of the sludge of sleepiness. "Only so you wouldn't have to do your own work," I mumbled.

His reaction was a predictable, age-old gesture. I swallowed my mouthful of rice and stuck out my tongue. Jerk.

"But seriously!" Nanase continued. "I, uh, got held back in a couple classes. And I can still help you with the ones you've got."

He did have a point there. "Aizen-san and I already study Zanpakutou together," I said. "Fujikage-san and I study in our room, too. It'd be handy to have everyone in one place."

Shinji snorted. "Shoulda known you'd be in it to keep everythin' nice an' efficient."

Shinju's and my feet lashed out in unison.

"If everyone isn't too busy, I'd like that," Shinju said over Shinji's whimpering. "It's easier for me to write an essay when I can get other people's opinions on it."

"That sounds okay. If you all really want to do it," Minoru said around a yawn wide enough for me to count every tooth.

Nanase's smile could've lit up all Seireitei. "Perfect! Where do you want to meet?"

After a couple minutes of debate, we settled on the Mizuchi courtyard. It was decently close to all of our dorms and had level steps to work on, with plenty of shade. I wasn't too fond of the place, given my association of it with the Nimaya-Oshiro debacle, but it fit what we needed.

"I've got training with Himura-sensei after dinner, though," I said at some point, rewarded by the stares of my classmates.

"Still? I thought your punishment was up," Shinju said.

Minoru frowned. "And I thought ya said ya had it right after classes let out."

I shook my head. To Shinju, I said, "He decided to extend it. Apparently my grappling and such need work." To Minoru I said, "That was a one-time thing. It fit better with the third-year who's helping us out's schedule to do it after dinner."

Shinji's grin was uncomfortably sharp. "Ooh, is it a musclebound cap'n-to-be?"

I flushed. "I don't like what you're implying," I told him. "It's a girl, anyway. Choujuno Akane."

Shinju frowned. "Choujuno... I thought that family usually went into the Kidou Corps."

Nanase shrugged. "Heck if I know!" He said with a smile that no one should've been capable of wearing before noon. "I think I know who you mean, though. She's got this red hair done up in fancy styles, carries lots of knives?"

I nodded. "That's her. Loves to remind me that I'm not, in fact, perfect." I made a face.

"I'd be happy to take up that duty," Shinji said, grin sly. "I remember how, let's say, Mom had to remind ya for years to brush yer hair. Or how ya got bitten by a dog and didn't think ta mention it ta anybody until they saw that yer sleeve was all bloody. Or-"

"It wasn't that bad a bite!" I protested. "But no thanks. I'm fine not knowing the many ways I screw up every day."

"There's the bitch that tattled on you." I very deliberately didn't turn. That voice again, the raspy one from my fight with Seinosuke. A brief expansion of my reiatsu caught the edge of the reiatsu of Seinosuke himself as he skulked past. But no one was with him. From the looks I saw sent his way, no one wanted to be. Out of the corner of my eye, Nanase tensed.

"So," I said a little too loudly, "anybody got a test today? I've got one in Government."

That elicited a chorus of responses, switching the topic to one that provided a nice distraction from weird voices.

"So we'll meet right before dinner?" Nanase said. Man, he really wanted to hang out with us. But I nodded with everyone else. Studying was useful and the group would give me a chance to view how Aizen interacted with his peers. I could foist Nanase on someone else if I had to as well. Shinju would be happy to have me being social—I knew she worried about how much time I spent in the library or our room—and Shinji would get to hang out with Shinju.

Ew. My little brother crushing on my roommate. Not thinking about that.

Anyway. Minoru would get some much-needed practice with his kana. Maybe even start on his kanji.

 _All the objectives are coming along nicely_ , a voice in the back of my mind mused.

 _Bad self_ , I scolded. _People aren't objectives._

 _To my surprise,_ the voice responded. _They are if they're involved in a plan,_ it argued.

I shut that away for now as the gong rang to send us off to class. I needed to catch up to Seinosuke and talk to him like I'd said I would. It'd only been a couple days, but I doubted Ounabara wanted to wait much longer.

I threaded my way through the crowd, following the now-familiar antiseptic sense of his reiatsu. Close, closer, closest...

"Yamada-senpai." I made my voice steady and calm as the stone beneath our waraji. "Can we talk?"

He whirled at his name, face going dangerously dark at seeing my face. "What the hell do you want, horse-teeth?" Seinosuke snarled. "You took Nanase, you got me in trouble again—is there anything you don't want to steal?"

Interesting. So he _had_ cared about Nanase. "To talk. Like I said." Okay, that had come out whiny. Oh well. "In private. It has to do with your punishment."

Wrong thing to say. "Rubbing it in?" Seinosuke said, blue eyes narrow. "Really, you had to stoop that low?"

 _Idiot. Idiotidiotidiot. Why was he so_ stupid? "Shut up," I said, low and hard. If being blunt got through to him, I'd be blunt. "You're going to come with me, and I'm going to try and not get your Zanpakutou broken, genius." A step, an iron grip-and-twist of his forearm that Akane had taught me, and I was dragging Seinosuke away.

I came to a halt in a vacant training field, releasing him. I started talking as he rubbed his arm, before he could remember to be mad again.

"Look, they want to break your Zanpakutou. You're a jerk, but you don't deserve to get cut off from Byakuren-" I stopped. Where had that come from? It fit, settled nicely in the air, but... Not important. What was important was that Seinosuke had stopped too and was now staring at me like I'd announced I was Yamamoto in disguise.

"How- how do you know my Zanpakutou's name? Nanase? No, I didn't tell him- How?!" Seinosuke burst out, fists clenched at his sides.

Now was a really bad time to remember that Zanpakutou were considered somewhat private, wasn't it?

The memory of his Zanpakutou's sword guard, shaped like a lotus blossom, descended on me like a gift from heaven. I folded my arms, scoffed like I knew what I was doing. "Seriously? With your Zanpakutou's guard? Poets use it all the time to symbolize purity." I smirked, praying it didn't shake. "But you knew that, didn't you? You're not that stupid."

Seinosuke's neck was redder than Akane's hair, but to his credit he just swallowed hard and glared at me. _Hit the mark,_ I thought triumphantly.

"You said you wanted to talk about me getting punished," Seinosuke bit out. "So talk."

"I told Ounabara that if I talked to you and saw that you were remorseful, I'd tell him about it and he wouldn't break your Zanpakutou," I said. "By that I mean I have to tell him everything you said and did and everything I said and did. If he thinks you're sorry, then he won't do it. So make me think you're sorry."

Seinosuke's eyes narrowed. "How do I know you aren't lying?"

"Because I have no reason to lie? I'm not a sadist," I said, narrowing my eyes back. Two could play the 'suspicious for no reason' game. "And contrary to popular opinion, I'm not a liar either."

He huffed. "Everyone knows you Hirako lie as easy as you breathe."

"Well, everyone's wrong," I said, relishing the chance to not sugarcoat or defer to anyone. It was like a kata: I only had to worry about myself and what I wanted. We weren't friends. He wasn't my teacher. No misdirection, no half-truths. Just us. "And it's not wrong of me to ask for an apology. You attacked a first-year girl because your d- your pride couldn't handle it!" I bit off the curse I'd meant to use. Seinosuke wouldn't be what tripped up my tongue. "And no, you couldn't be bothered to do it by yourself. You needed help."

Seinosuke glowered. "You wonder why people don't like you? Oh, don't act like you're the social butterfly your kid brother is." He sneered. "Nobody was walking with you to class; the only people who sit with you are the ones who're obligated to and a couple of brats who'll run with anyone; you don't know anybody who'd tell you about the way you're supposed to act here." Seinosuke snorted, arms folded snake-coil tight. "Maybe you aren't like a real Hirako, but what you are is worse. You're a self-righteous know-it-all bitch who punches first and thinks of the consequences later. Should've been born a Kuchiki or a Waka-"

I cut him off with a slash of the hand, familiar slow burn building in my chest. "Don't blame me for your choices!" I all-but-shouted at him before he could finish that hated name. "Don't blame me for your social status being so pre-precarious that people will look down on you for losing one fight! You chose to ambush me. You refused to let it go. Maybe I'm part of the problem. Maybe I get why you did it. But I didn't make you do anything!" My breathing came hot and harsh, forcing its way out of a tight throat. "And I can't make you take the offer. Last. Chance." Reiatsu fizzed on my skin, faint but present. The deep breath I gulped did nothing to abate the lightning-hot anger in me.

Seinosuke's stance shook—no, shook implied something solid enough to be shaken in the first place. He swayed like a tree in a storm, ready to react if I attacked.

If I attacked. The thought did interrupt my fury then. He thought I'd hurt him. That I was that much of a loose cannon. Our encounters had been violent, true. But he'd been the aggressor!

Aggressor, yes, but I was born and bred and trained to never carry out attacks by half. And not so oblivious that I didn't know that people drew conclusions from how you acted and looked and talked, not out of thin air. Seinosuke really thought I was some kind of vicious zealot and I hadn't discouraged that perception.

 _Breathe,_ whispered tempered rage in my soul. I breathed. _You're not in the right. But he is even less so. Understanding is not justification. Breathe, and wait._

I breathed, and waited for his reply.

What I got was a storm of hallucinations instead.

"You're going to just let her cut your branches like that?!" A pause. "I don't care that you don't have those! She's ripping up our roots one by one, that crazy bitch! Who does she think she is?" Another pause, long enough to fit a sentence. Then, more grudgingly, "Maybe growing around it is better. But we've got thorns. Let her see them!"

I blinked rapidly, wrapping my hands in my sleeves so I didn't cover my ears. Don't look like a crazy freak, don't look like a crazy freak...

"Fine." Seinosuke's eyes were anywhere but me. He took a deep breath, still radiating poison and brambles, but the sensation was muted, like he'd tried to prune the briars. "I'm- sorry. For attacking you. And insulting you. You're still a self-righteous know-it-all, but there's no sense in fighting anymore. My rep's not coming back soon enough for you to make amends. I'll stop messing with you and you stop messing with me. That acceptable?"

The quickness of my nod might've surprised him, but it wasn't a hard decision. Byakuren spared, Seinosuke one less thing to worry about, and Ounabara satisfied. Three birds with one stone, just how I liked it. "Yeah. Except for one thing: you don't mess with Nanase either. I'm not letting him get wrapped up in your crap again."

Seinosuke snorted. "Like you care."

"I don't." As soon as the words sprang from my mouth, the thought asshole sprang into my mind. Who _said_ that? "I don't have to to want the best for him. People deserve better than what he had with you. And if I don't care now, I will. If caring about people didn't take work, I'd be as friendless as you think I am." And as I think I am. The cold hollow Momohiko had created in me threatened to open again. I shut it out for now. Everything had its time and this was not the time.

"Fine. Go scurry off to Ounabara-sensei and do what you said you would, then." He flapped a hand at me. I suppressed the irritation that bubbled up at seeing the gesture. It wasn't like I hadn't already known he was arrogant.

I bowed. "Thanks for cooperating, Yamada-senpai." Turned, ready to do just that, and made it a few paces away before he spoke again.

"Hey. You'd better take care of Nanase. He's not from that high a district, but-" his breath hitched "-there are bastards wherever you go. You act like them and I don't care how well-bred you are or how much knowledge you've got crammed into that crazy head of yours. You die. And don't go getting yourself disappeared before you've talked to Ounabara."

I kept walking, calling over my shoulder, "Sure thing."

 _Note to self: Keep an eye on Nanase. It looks like I've exchanged one headache for another._

* * *

"Someday," I declared, breezing into Mizuchi, "I'm going to drop dead of exhaustion and it's going to be Himura's fault."

Shinji whistled. "No honorific. Somebody's pissed."

I shot an 'idiot little brother' glare his way and settled gingerly onto the stone steps beside him, sticky with pollen still wet from last night's rain. Sometimes summer sucked.

"I thought you didn't meet with him until later, Nariko-san," Aizen said, fidgeting at the edge of our circle as usual. Well, calling it a circle was being generous. 'Collection of people in a shape that couldn't be described as a polygon' was more accurate.

"Afternoon, Hirako-chan!" Nanase sang out, echoed by Shinju's quieter "Hello, Hirako-chan" a heartbeat later. Minoru mumbled something that might've been a hello.

I smiled broadly at Aizen, scooching so he was a little more in the circle. "Good memory. Yeah, I don't, but if I didn't have to keep his abuse in mind I wouldn't have to stress about getting my work done before then." Then, turning to my other friends, I said, "Afternoon, guys."

If my smile dimmed a little for them, not having to be so bright for those who weren't future megalomaniacs, that was just too bad.

"So, what'd I miss?" I asked, spreading my materials out.

"I'm writing about the Punishment Force and what they get called to deal with," Shinju said, gesturing to a half-filled piece of paper in front of her. "It's pretty short since they obviously can't teach us the details."

Shinji rolled his eyes. "I'm supposed ta learn a couple hand seals by tomorrow. They're testin' for speed," he complained.

I rolled my eyes back. "Like you aren't fast enough with your fingers when there're mochi around?"

His grin was completely and utterly unrepentant.

"I'm memorizing a Hadou incantation. Wanna see?" Nanase practically bounced, impressive considering he was kneeling in seiza in front of a scroll. I held back giggles. Somebody should take the poor kid for a walk every day and burn off some of that energy.

"Sure," I said. "Just a sec." I glanced over at Aizen, hoping he'd say what he was doing without prompting. It was like pulling teeth to get him to talk sometimes.

"I have an essay on important events in West Rukongai history," he obliged me. "I'm mostly done, if you want to talk about Zanpakutou?"

Tempting, but someone hadn't spoken up.

"Minoru-kun?" I said, raising an eyebrow at him. "Need any-"

"No." His voice couldn't have been any closer to an animal's growl, sullen like a child's. "Stupid essay, I told him-!" He broke off, flushing purple. Given how everybody suddenly seemed to be looking elsewhere... They didn't know Minoru was illiterate. Teased him, maybe? Either way, major button pushed.

I shot Shinji a look. _You wanna handle this, or should I?_

He took me up on it. "Yo, there's no point in refusing. It's still yer work if somebody else writes it for ya."

"I don't care," Minoru said, shaking his head hard. "I'm not givin' inta that asshole!"

"It's not about givin' inta him or not," Shinji went on, jaw set as his opponent's. "No point in gettin' lower marks than ya have ta. Yeah, sometimes ya gotta take a stand, but this ain't anythin' more than a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things."

Minoru's voice rose. "He knew I can't read! And he still said I had to write that damn essay! I hate nobles!"

I hate you. Not the first time someone had said that to me, or implied it. It was easy to retreat into the knowledge of a life where I wasn't a noble, never had been. Hate? Meaningless to me.

But not to Shinji, one eye twitching in a distinctly unfunny way. Not to Shinju, who looked like Minoru had run her through. And definitely not to Nanase, who looked torn between agreeing and defending us.

And I didn't need to be able to read Aizen's reiatsu, heavy with suppressed anger, to notice the answering rage in every line of his body. But he hadn't reacted, so the volcano wasn't erupting just yet. Phew.

So it fell to me to keep the peace. I hid a grimace. I would've liked Shinju to mollify everyone with her sweet words, or failing that Shinji, who exemplified our clan's light-heartedness. But Shinji's reiatsu, blazing like midsummer in a desert, had just about slipped its leash and Shinju would cry if she said a word. Minoru... didn't seem particularly likely to back down either, fists clenched at his sides.

"Okay," I said, suppressing any emotion in my voice. "Why?"

He sputtered, caught off guard. "Why? Whaddya mean, why?"

"Exactly what I said," I replied, folding my hands tight in my lap. Don't punch the idiot, don't punch the idiot... He was a justified idiot, but an idiot nonetheless for saying that aloud, with multiple witnesses, and to a mostly-noble group. Good thing we were relatively decent nobles. "Why do you hate nobles? Just curious."

The trick was working. I heard it in the hitch in his voice and felt it in the subsiding focus in his reiatsu. Still churning with frustration, but distracted by my question. "Because... ya do things Rukon folk don't get and don't explain any of it, just expect us to do it because some broad brought ya inta the world kickin' and screamin' and not us. Ya feel free to treat us like dirt and justify it by pointin' at some fancy title. Souls starve 'cause they can't make it here in time and none of ya care!" Water shone in dark eyes, a hair away from spilling out.

I filtered that through my mental Kansai-ben filter and then again through my anger filter. What I got began a pounding in my temples. If I refuted what he said—and that'd be lying—then I'd have a couple hurt, pissed-off Rukongai kids on my hands and possibly earn the ire of a batshit insane superbeing. If I agreed with him, I'd have a couple hurt, pissed-off nobles on my hands and jeopardize my relationship with Shinji to boot. I couldn't afford either.

Lucky for me, I'd long ago mastered the art of riding the fence. "You're angry because we take and the way we give back isn't obvious. Because a lot of the time there isn't time to explain everything and so many factors are under consideration that it'd make no sense anyway. Because the clan system is meant to ensure that heirs are trained to do their duty, but when bad apples come along or not everyone can be pleased it looks like power is arbitrary. And that the 'all-powerful clans' can do something about souls unfortunate enough to be missed or distant." The thrill of smugness flickered around Shinju and Shinji, anger returning to Minoru and beginning, subdued, in Nanase. Aizen felt—but didn't look—like he was about to go postal. Shiiiiiiiit.

One side appeased, one to go. "However." I held up my hand, purely to feel impressive. "You aren't wrong. Can I speak freely?" I shot a glance at Shinju, who gave me a puzzled, tearful nod. A flash of my reiatsu revealed no onmitsu, though that didn't mean they weren't there. I decided not to say everything I thought. "Then I will. Soul Society is stagnant. Shinigami take care of Seireitei more than the Rukongai. Order is the same way things have always been, not how they should be. Not that that's always bad," I added, glancing around as obviously as I could to make it clear that I was trying to appease any eavesdroppers. "Certain people are spoiled and feel entitled to their rank. And we let it happen in the name of tradition. Of what's always worked."

I paused for dramatic effect, bowed my head. "I'm sorry. I can't do anything about your teacher being a jerk. Just offer help. Same with the government."

If we'd been in a different manga, my friends' jaws would've been scraping the ground. Goal achieved.

I shrugged, like I hadn't just bordered on treasonous. "Shinigami officers have power. Who says I can't do something about it?"

"That's-" Shinju broke off just short of that word.

I slid my gaze over to her, faux-casual, twisting the fingers of one hand with the other to hide their telltale stillness. "Not really. I don't want to take down the government. Just improve it."

Shinji whistled, low and long. "Maybe it's a good thing that Oshiro banned ya from the library. Clearly they've got some funny ideas there."

"Good ideas," Aizen put in. I stared at him, wide-eyed, before I remembered that surprise kinda ruined my carefully crafted 'brilliant older sister' mystique. Not that Shinji paid attention to it. The writhing rage in his reiatsu had faded to nearly nothing. "Odd, for a noble."

I sighed. "So be it. Normalcy's not for me anyway." Which, really, I was resigned to. My brother was a future captain and the rest of my family spies. Normalcy was never going to happen.

Minoru gulped. "M-maybe I shouldn'ta taken up with ya," he stammered, voice returned to its usual volume. "You're gonna get us all killed."

I shook my head hard. "I won't! Not if you don't get involved. Won't even get myself killed if I don't get caught." Back to the schoolgirl. I slung an arm around Shinji's shoulders, grinning. "Besides, what're they gonna do if my brother's a captain, huh?"

"Hey!" Shinji squawked. "Don't go makin' promises for me ta keep!"

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Quiet, you. They'll have you graduating early, you mark my words." I turned back to Minoru. "You too, if you work hard."

The scowl returned. "I thought ya said no teasin', Nariko-san."

I rolled my eyes skyward. Okay, he wouldn't be a captain like Shinji, but a seated officer for sure. "Someday someone's going to believe me when I tell them I don't lie and I'll be incredibly surprised," I said to no one in particular. "Seriously, I can see it. Maybe in the Ninth or Tenth. But they aren't going to let you if you get bad grades."

"That yer way of sayin' I should give in ta Bastard-sensei?" Minoru grumbled.

"Yeah," I said, lacing my fingers together. "It sucks, but there's no getting around him now. Headmaster's just going to back him up. Better to just do it, then show him up by graduating and getting a better position than that jerk could ever dream of. 'Sides, you don't think there aren't other kids in your position, do you? They're doing the exact same thing."

"I don't believe ya," Minoru said firmly. "But fine. And no offense, but could Shinji-san maybe write it?"

By the time we finished our study session, everybody had their work done and no one was upset anymore. Outwardly, anyway.

"Hey, Shinju-sa- Shinju-chan," I said as we left, trying to switch honorifics and not quite making the change smoothly. Stupid tongue had used up its eloquence for the day.

"Yes?" She turned, smile plastered on.

"Are you okay? With what was said, I wasn't sure..." I fixed my gaze firmly on the walkway instead of her face.

She hesitated for a long second. "Oh, I'm fine. Minoru-san's having a bad day, I'm sure," she said.

"Hey." I tried to reach out and touch her shoulder reassuringly and ended up poking her. "If you're mad, or hurt, or whatever because of him? You can tell me. I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to."

Shinju sniffled. "Really, I'm fine. You and Minoru-san had a point, you know."

Ah. So that was the problem—she thought I didn't like nobles too. Maybe I'd leaned a little more towards one side of the fence than I'd intended. "Minoru-kun had a point," I corrected, scuffing my sandals on the path. "I just wanted everyone to calm down. Less trouble that way."

"...you do a lot of things so there'll be less trouble, don't you." Shinju's face and voice were unreadable, slate blue eyes staring straight ahead and reiatsu drawn in close to her skin.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I said carefully. _Shit. Shitshitshitfuck._ I'd hoped that my machinations—had I really made many?—had gone unnoticed.

"You just... seem like you have an agenda," Shinju said. "Like you look at life and see obstacles to get out of the way, you know."

 _Okay, now how do I convince her—wait._ I shook my head, both in response to Shinju and to that thought. _That's exactly what she thinks I'm doing. And I'm not. Am I? I'm not a sociopath. I know I'm not. People matter. I just can't let them get in the way of making sure the world doesn't end._ "I- my dad says everyone you meet has an agenda. So I'd be lying if I said I didn't," I said, hiding my hands in my sleeves. "But I promise you it's a good agenda. I like life. I like living. It's just easier for me to- to take a step back sometimes. Besides, why would anyone want trouble?"

Shinju's lips curved into a slight smile. "Fair point. I don't know how much I agree with it, you know? It seems... inadvisable."

I laughed, half-forced, half-genuine. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but I have trouble taking advice. I get what you mean," I added when it looked like she was going to explain herself. "But I think it's possible. And I promise you I won't risk my neck or anyone else's for it." _Key word being 'or,'_ I added mentally. _It's going to have to be one or the other depending on how well I pull this off._

But I'd try to make sure no one got hurt. If people died, it should be the person who wasn't supposed to be there, not people who'd never even imagined other worlds.

* * *

Shinju lay snoring on her futon, conflict resolved earlier that evening and evidently not troubling her further. Good.

Meanwhile, I sat cross-legged on my futon, asauchi drawn and resting on my lap. In the shadows and moonlight spilling in from our window, it was midnight blue and silver, a pretty combination. Now, if only those colors went with my hair. I lifted one hand from the blade to finger the light strands, hanging unbound by my face. For all my disapproval of Shinju's hair, mine wasn't much better.

 _Focus_. For once I couldn't tell the difference between the mental reminders I gave myself so often and the whispers of my budding Zanpakutou, one of the sources of my voices. Both were stern, yet strangely soothing, though the latter sounded much more cultured. My mental voice came from a mouth dirtier than my waraji.

 _I should probably get on that,_ I thought, eyeing the pollen on the sandals by the door.

 _Focus, daoshi_. Definitely the Zanpakutou spirit this time, something 'shh'ing behind its words. As mysterious as it was, it knew everything about me, including my title until I was officially declared princess of the Hirako. _Stay committed to your little rebellion._

It wasn't much of a rebellion, I thought as I let my hand fall back to the asauchi. Really, it was more like doing extra credit in my free time, only I didn't get extra points for it. But if Oshiro was going to punish me for going to the library like any ambitious student would, studying outside of his class was rebellion enough.

Now, time to get back to meditation. I'd just about memorized the questions from that class anyway.

 _Question Twelve_ , the spirit prompted.

Right. 'How do you seek to best serve Soul Society?' I rolled my eyes, both physically and mentally. Nimaiya would've slapped the idea right out of my head. But I didn't really have anything else to go by...

 _Stupid daoshi. You think you're restricted to what someone else gives you?_ the spirit scolded. _Make them up if you aren't satisfied._

 _Yes, 'mom,'_ I grumbled.

My ears popped painfully as a wave of static blasted through my head. I blinked, licking suddenly dry lips and tasting ozone.

 _Hypocrite! Don't scold your brother for disrespect and turn around and sass me,_ the spirit snapped, voice crackly instead of whispering.

Even though it was in my head, I flushed, averting my eyes from its silvery blade. _I'm sorry_ , I replied with more sincerity than I'd expected from myself. No shame or social pressure to force me this time, just genuine remorse. _Forgive me?_

An almost tangible pause. _Yes,_ the spirit said, whispery echoes returning as its tone softened. _Now, if you would come up with your own questions?_

 _Fine_. I sat back, sighing. The silence around me swallowed the sound. Weird, that I didn't hear my not-yet-Zanpakutou's voice as loudly as the others, half-drowned by shushing like leaves and staticky crackling, but maybe that was because it hadn't-

 _Oh. Ohhhh._ My eyes, half-closed in thought, flew wide open. The voices weren't my imagination. They were other people's Zanpakutou. That... explained a lot. Why I heard the raspy voice of Byakuren only around Seinosuke, for instance. Why I'd heard the deep voice of Engetsu upon meeting Isshin.

Knowing why didn't necessarily make it better, though. I hadn't started out hearing Zanpakutou, after all, and it'd gotten more frequent and louder since that had begun, which implied that my newfound ability would get more powerful as time went on. With a hurried apology to my Zanpakutou spirit, I forced my mind out of hajimezen-mode and into past-life-mode. Did canon say anything about this? I doubted it, though I half-remembered something happening in Ichigo's fight with Kenpachi. I untangled my legs and tip-toed across the room, snatching my future events scroll and uncapping it.

 _Nothing,_ I concluded after a quick scan of the scroll's contents. Ichigo'd felt Kenpachi's sword screaming, but that was easily attributed to Kenpachi's monstrous reiatsu and the ferocity with which Kenpachi'd attacked. Plus, a neglected Zanpakutou like that probably would've shouted so loud anyone could hear. I rolled it back up and went back to my futon.

So. Pros of being able to hear Zanpakutou: it was a little like mind-reading. Not really, though, since I only got to hear it when the Zanpakutou responded and then only one side of the conversation. Or maybe I'd get the ability to hear them all the time later. I kinda hoped not. Zanpakutou reflected wielders, and their wielders were as petty as anyone else.

Cons: I had precisely zero ability to turn it off or otherwise control it, which pretty much meant I couldn't use it to find people. The fact that it seemed to require me to be in close proximity to people didn't help. And it was distracting, as my formerly-broken nose could attest. Kinda annoying, depending on the spirit. Why couldn't I have the ability to see the spirits instead? Improved vision would've been nice, if only to make up for poor vision in my last life.

Overall, it wasn't too much of a problem now that I knew what was going on. A mild nuisance more than anything. Except for whatever'd happened with Oshiro, now that I thought about it. Metal against metal? I could only pray that other Zanpakutou weren't so grating. And more comprehensible. How on earth Oshiro heard his spirit was beyond me...

 _Daoshi_ , my spirit reminded me, _weren't you in the middle of something?_

Right. What questions could I think of that were more me?

How do I want people to remember me? That was a good one. One I'd need to think about to decide what I'd do in between the Hollowfication and now. Did I want to be like Shinji, bored mask hiding extreme competence? Like Urahara, goofy act tricking nearly everyone despite his recorded brilliance? Maybe even like Nanao, serious and respected despite rarely unleashing her power? What legacy would I leave behind?

It was a more important question than it seemed at first glance. Depending on how I acted in the meantime, Soul Society might treat me differently. If I built up a stellar reputation for myself, they might be willing to negotiate when Ichigo and company invaded Seireitei. It would certainly save a lot of trouble if they didn't have to fight their way through Soul Society. I'd have to make up for that by making Urahara train Ichigo a lot more, but it would be worth it. Communication would've solved a lot of problems in Bleach.

 _I want to achieve,_ I decided, _and I want to do it on my terms. Not mimicking anyone else._

 _So what are your terms, daoshi?_ The spirit murmured, its voice a hair less obscured than it had been before.

An even better question. _No one judges me on my clan,_ I responded. _If I do well, it won't be because of who my dad is, or who my brother is. I'll work as hard I can and make sure people know it, but not flaunt it_. No, bragging was a bad idea. Bragging invited people to prove you wrong, besides being rude. And it would be so much more delicious if people overlooked my accomplishments and got their ass handed to them. _And I'm going to alternately scare the shit out of them and make them underestimate me._

Whispers and electricity were silent for a heartbeat. _...explain, daoshi_. I could've sworn I heard exasperation in the spirit's tone.

 _Simple. People won't fight me if I freak them out badly enough. Less dying that way. And if I act ordinary, they'll think I'm nothing special and be in for a surprise. Maybe even lie about what I can do._

 _Daoshi_ , it scolded, _that's dishonest_.

 _Fine,_ I replied. _I won't lie. But if I don't tell them all the truth, it's not my fault if they're stupid._

 _One can never help others' stupidity_ , it agreed. _But you'll make enemies that way. How will you deal with them?_

 _No mercy,_ I thought back with more than a little reluctance. It was wrong for me to be that sure about my reaction to people attacking me. But I knew that I wouldn't lie down and take it. I couldn't. I didn't know what came after this world and didn't want to find out.

 _You fear death?_ Genuine surprise, in that lilting voice.

 _Anyone sane fears death_ , I thought. _People who say they don't are lying. I want to live. I want to make this world better. If I die, I can't do anything. Why shouldn't I be scared of that?_

 _Your warrior-poets would call you unenlightened for that_ , she—in a moment of clarity, I knew it was a she—said. _They would say you can't possibly do the right thing with such a warped view on life._

 _I would say they have a warped view on enlightenment,_ I retorted. _Hey, that's another part of how I'm going to deal with my enemies: do the right thing when I can. They've got to at least respect me if I do the right thing._

 _And if they have a different idea of what the right thing is?_ she asked.

 _Then fuck 'em. I couldn't have done anything to convince them anyway,_ I retorted. I was way too awake for this time of night. Maybe a walk would help. _Hey, would you be mad if I went outside without putting you through an obi?_

A sigh, like crashing waves. _Just this once,_ she said.

I sheathed my Zanpakutou and rolled off my futon, padding across the floor so as not to wake Shinju. For once I was thankful that the doors here didn't use creaky hinges. Much quieter. I slid ours shut behind me without any trouble.

Once out in the cool night air, I let my feet carry me at random. Campus looked so different without students walking around it. Peaceful, certainly, but also lonely. Shadows softened what moonlight couldn't sharpen in its rays. A breeze drifted through the trees, carrying with it the sweet perfume of lilac and blood. I must've wandered to Mizuchi without realizing it.

Ice flooded me. I stopped dead in my tracks. _Blood. Someone's bleeding. Oh no someone's bleeding have to help-_

I half-dashed, half-stumbled into the courtyard. _Who's hurt have to help-_

Moonlight, spilling out from behind a cloud and illuminating a body. Pigtails in a pool of blood. No asauchi, but a sheath. One of my classmates. I ran to her side, kneeling as I reached frantically for my reiryoku. Blue-green light shimmered around my hands. But I didn't- we hadn't learned any Kidou yet, let alone healing Kidou! How did I-

Footsteps behind me, heavy enough to belong to an adult. Or upperclassman. I wasn't picky. I half-turned, relieved smile gripping a face that had to be as pale as the moon with how cold and bloodless it felt. "She's hurt, you have to-!"

A palm in front of my face. Light, brilliant white, illuminating a gaunt figure.

Nothing at all.


	8. The Truth Revealed in Kanji

My mouth tasted like something had died in it. Typical morning mouth, really, except generally I woke up in my bed, not wherever here was.

'Here' sounded like distant dripping water instead of Shinju's rhythmic breathing. Instead of her sandalwood scent, I could smell wet stone and the fishy-metallic stench of dried blood. I turned my head slightly, cracking my eyes open, and heard metal clink. I decided not to turn further as some of that metal proved to have very sharp edges that were very ready to poke me in the eye. Not that I got poked in the eye, but I had to go cross-eyed to see the stuff, which meant I was lucky to have been dumped where I was.

"You can stop pretending to be unconscious. I heard your breathing change."

 _No. Nonononono. Not happening. This wasn't happening, someone pinch me, what's going on it can't be-_

It was. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I caught sight of purple hair in the gloom. Oshiro.

 _But he's a teacher,_ I reasoned as I levered myself into a sitting position, careful where I put my hands so I didn't shred them. _He's my teacher. He won't hurt me. He's probably been attacked and captured too. He has to be good. Hastobegoodhastobegood HE HAS TO BE A GOOD GUY-_

"Where's my Zanpakutou?" I managed through cracked lips. That wasn't water on my cheeks. A metal shard had cut me. Right, that was it. I wasn't going to cry because of some stupid guy. Or because of the gaping hole in my soul. Not inside me, not like when I let Momohiko get to me. Deeper, in the same place I reached to for my reiryoku.

"Your Zanpakutou?" Definitely Oshiro's voice, but not his smile. Oshiro's smile belonged on Ukitake, wide and benevolent as it was. This man's not-smile was a cut in his face. "Ah, yes. I suppose one could call it that now. Right on the threshold, neither an asauchi nor a full Zanpakutou. Call it what you will."

"That isn't an answer," I growled. My head was throbbing, my stomach didn't particularly want to hold onto its contents, and my teacher had apparently kidnapped me. Life sucked too much right now to be polite.

Kidnapped. Oshiro kidnapped me. Somehow that thought made it clearly through the pain pulsing through my brain.

 _He's my teacher! He couldn't have kidnapped me!_ I protested. Why, I wasn't sure. The thought didn't come from my Zanpakutou spirit, just from my own mind. It couldn't provide me with anything original.

 _Face it. You're in an unfamiliar place that smells like blood and he's the only other one here. He kidnapped you and if you don't figure something out the next person here will be smelling your blood,_ the part of me that had stayed rational responded.

"I took it," Oshiro said, nonchalant as though he was critiquing an essay I'd submitted. "You won't be needing it after I've finished the process." Something about that niggled at me. He sounded like a B-movie villain, the kind that narrated their whole evil plan before finally, finally moving to finish the damsel in distress. Just in time for the hero to arrive, flex his manly muscles, and save her, of course.

 _I went through a whole life without having a Zanpakutou and did just fine. My mind's just going to have to be original enoug_ h. "P-process?" I asked, not having to fake the tremble in my voice at all. I hadn't told anyone where I was going, or even hinted that I made a habit of walking around Shin'ou at night. There was no hero coming to save me.

 _So I'll just have to be the heroine and damsel in distress at the same time_ , I reasoned as I waited for Oshiro to snap out of his daze. He seemed lost in some demented trance. Why couldn't Soul Society have some mental healthcare on top of the Fourth Division? Or was this guy sane and just plain evil? What do I know?

 _Wherever you are has an entrance and exit, or he couldn't have brought me in here. There may or may not be a source of water that I can swim through as a last resort. Oshiro has experience doing this, or you wouldn't have stumbled across that girl. And there wouldn't be so much blood here. Was it a bad sign that I didn't put more emphasis on the whole 'this place reeks of dried blood' thing? I couldn't, anyway, not right now. I needed to take this rationally, with a nice, neat plan. No freaking out. He cast some Kidou on me which might have side-effects I don't know about. I don't have my Zanpakutou. And this definitely involves his obsession with asauchi. Oshiro isn't afraid to hurt me, so I can't be afraid to hurt him._

Not that hurting him would be likely. An armed, adult Kidou practitioner vs. an unarmed teenage girl with no practical combat knowledge? Yeah, I could predict the outcome of that pretty easily. But still. _He's done this to other people. They didn't deserve it. You don't deserve it. You have to fight!_

Oshiro had started up again. I tuned back in. "Simple in theory," he said in a dangerously absent tone, as if his mind was on murdering kittens. Oshiro turned to face me, strange slash-smile still in place. "You're a prodigy, Nariko-san. I wonder if you really know how much of one you are?"

Ooh, flattery sounded nice right about now. Plus, I needed to get him monologuing. Observations meant nothing without application. "I'm not a prodigy!" I blurted out, injecting as much confusion and fear into my voice as I could. "That's Shinji you want! He's not crazy, not like me..." I sniffled, which actually wasn't part of the act. This place reeked.

"Crazy? Some people call geniuses crazy. But they realize how smart they are after the fact. Of course they do. Except for the lucky. The lucky get recognized for what they are before. Nimaiya was one of those. My wielder... wasn't," Oshiro said. His eyes weren't twinkling now. They were flat, almost literally so. The half-light that illuminated the chamber didn't reflect in his eyes. Impossible.

 _Not if he isn't human_ , I realized, processing the last of what he'd said. I'd touched him, talked to him. But that meant nothing. I knew very little about Zanpakutou in the grand scheme of things. Except that Zangetsu, the real one, had possessed Ichigo's body on multiple occasions. Even the fake one had been able to affect Ichigo's body by stopping his bleeding. Could the Oshiro I knew, sickly and worshipful of Nimaiya, be a Zanpakutou possessing the real Oshiro's body? Not out of the question.

"You're a Zanpakutou," I breathed, lowering my voice to cover up the lack of actual awe in it. Didn't quite have the stupidity to admire a villain right now. "How?" Zangetsu hadn't been able to possess Ichigo's body indefinitely. Then again, he'd been trying to kill everyone and thus been stopped, and Oshiro was a schoolteacher, but still. Weird.

The Zanpakutou seemed happy to oblige me. "I heard you advocated for Byakuren to be left intact," he said in a voice as flat as his eyes. "So you have an idea of how much it hurts for a Zanpakutou to be broken." Gingerly, he drew the sword at his waist from its sheath. Only 'sword' didn't really apply here. 'Hilt with shards of metal attached to it in a mockery of a blade' was a hell of a lot more accurate. The whole construction was sickening to look at, pieces mismatched as though they were straining to get free of each other. I didn't try to touch it with my reiatsu. Vomiting tended to make one weak. "Fixable, of course, when the Shinigami applies the reiryoku and time necessary to fix what others have done to him. Not when the Shinigami consents to it. Not when he breaks you, over and over again, and forces you to fix yourself every time. Not when he hates his own soul."

 _I can't imagine why anyone would hate a murderous, controlling spirit,_ I thought, but kept the scared-animal look on my face. "Nobody should be hurt like that," I said to hide my disgust.

"He should've been," the Zanpakutou hissed, pacing across the metal-strewn floor. "He knew how much it hurt both of us. He wrecked this body!" The Zanpakutou raised a red-stained hand to his chest. "But he didn't listen. Never listened. Some self-righteous quest to destroy his demons. You fear me, Nariko-san. Your reiryoku is sealed, but I can see it. Because you liked the way I acted. You would've liked him too. Where do you think I took my inspiration from?"

"Is he still alive?" I asked, shifting position so I was kneeling. We'd learned in Zanjutsu how to strike from a specific kneeling position. Maybe I couldn't make a sword-strike, but I could get up a lot faster. Hopefully the Zanpakutou didn't know enough to recognize what I was doing. "I don't want you to give him back. Just... curious."

He made a choking sound that I guessed was laughter. "You like what I really am better? Doesn't that make you a traitor to your kind?"

"If I ever held allegiance to them, yes," I said, matching his flat tone. "I hear it when Zanpakutou speak to their Shinigami. Listening... it's obvious they aren't the paragons they pretend to be. Weak. Why shouldn't I support the limitless Zanpakutou?"

He stopped dead. "You know of that ability, yet you claim to be ordinary? You're lying about one of those, Nariko-san."

"Am I? Nimaiya knows every one of the asauchi and Yamamoto wields the strongest blade in Soul Society's history. They're the prodigies. I just have a... unique perspective," I said, keeping my eyes trained on his sword hand, still gripping the broken blade. _You moron. You think I'm lying about that and not sympathizing with you?_

The Zanpakutou turned, approaching me and kneeling so we were almost eye to eye. "You poor, ignorant girl," he rasped. "Nimaiya-sama can forge the asauchi, but he doesn't run the risk of turning each one to himself. Yamamoto can devastate the world with Ryuujin Jakka, but hear others' souls over the roar of his? No, never. You are of your soul in a way no other student of mine is. Which makes you the ideal candidate for the final stage of my process."

 _Shit. Got so caught up in debating the crazy Zanpakutou that I forgot about that._ "You never explained what the process is," I stalled, wrapping a still hand carefully around a metal shard. Better weapon than nothing.

The Zanpakutou clicked his tongue. "No, I didn't. Simply put, I'll take your Zanpakutou and make it part of me. The asauchi haven't been enough, even over years. Blank. Holding allegiance, but not strongly. Confused. A blade receptive and half-formed, but not of you completely? It'll last me forever. And a prodigy's, too. Young souls are the best candidates, being so raw, but they have no flavor. I wonder what yours will taste like?"

"That'll kill me," I said, shifting grip on the metal.

"It won't," the Zanpakutou said. "It'll kill your presence inside my world, then kill your body. Entirely different."

Inner- _Oh, fuck this. I'm not in the real world. No reiryoku, nobody to hear me screaming. Smart_. I glanced down at my arm, muscles tensed to strike, and saw glowing marks swirling over it. Apparently they were the source of the light here. Seals, probably. _Well, I'm well and truly fucked._ How did you fight a spirit in its own soul world?

"You don't," the Zanpakutou said. "There's no need to struggle. I've got your Zanpakutou right here. You'll have to hold it while I take it, to have the connection to your soul. It'll be over quickly."

Now or never. "No, it won't!" I shouted, lunging to my feet and slashing out with the metal.

The Zanpakutou caught my strike effortlessly. "How foolish. You think I can't control part of my own world?" He squeezed and my arm exploded with pain. I shrieked, yanking away as the marks burned red.

"You can't control me!" I gasped, cradling my arm. "You stupid spirit. I'm not part of your world. You can't control me."

His expression hardened. "I can control everything else," he growled, and the world collapsed. Something struck my head. Then another something.

When I could think clearly again, warm, sticky liquid trickled down my head. I gasped for breath, ready to run, until I saw what surrounded me. Imbedded in the cracks between stone chunks that formed my prison, shards of metal were poised to cut me to ribbons. Only my hand was free, and even then limited in its motion by a small armory's worth of iron.

"You think you're the first to fight back?" the Zanpakutou snarled, form rippling until he no longer looked my teacher, but instead a warped combination of him with a suit of steel armor, accented by darker iron. Not in the armor, merged with it. "Stupid Shinigami! I wouldn't even need you if you couldn't listen!"

"Well, you do!" I howled, lightning fury the only barrier keeping me from complete terror. The world spun around me like a whirlpool. "What's to stop me from killing myself on this?"

"Your damn need to survive. The need your kind never respects in others!" He shrieked back, each word hell on my ears. An asauchi just like mine materialized in its hand. No, the asauchi _was_ mine. I didn't know how I knew that, but it was.

"You're a murderer! You would kill me for my powers!" I yelled. "And you don't regret it! You're the exact person I told Shinju I wouldn't hesitate to kill! You bastard! You don't deserve to survive!"

He howled wordlessly, a sound echoed by tearing metal, but kept advancing. "I hate you! You rejected him and led him to form something he hated! Shinigami! You all deserve to die! Now take your blade and give me yourself!" He shoved the hilt into my hand roughly, and despite myself I gripped the thing like it was my lifeline.

"Goodbye, Hirako Nariko-san. Your wretched mind was the only one I ever enjoyed for a time." He wrapped a blood-stained hand around my neck and placed the other on my forehead, misshapen fingers on each temple and right between my eyes. The world blazed with tattoo-light again as the spirit opened its maw.

 _No! Not me! I refuse! He's been doing this unchecked for too long. I have to make the difference. I have to havetohavetohaveto! I_ will _change the world!_

Time slowed to a crawl. A statuesque woman, delicate features more traditionally Japanese than my own, stepped out from the shadows. If the spirit noticed her, he gave no indication. She glided towards us, kimono unstained and whole despite dragging over the broken-metal ground.

"Daoshi," she said, every word proper Tokyo-ben, lifting the sakkat that shaded her face. Silver fabric attached to the back hid the suggestion of dark hair. "You are better than this death. I am better than this thing. You will challenge me later. Now, we make the difference." She reached out a hand to me, wrapped in trailing indigo fabric, placed it on my sword. "Speak."

Words fell into my mind and out of my mouth. "Extinguish the infernal flames," I whispered, void filling with every word. Lightning fury? The real thing was surging through my veins. "Cleanse the unjust, roar through heaven, and strike down the moon. Turn the tide, Tennyou no Rai'arashi!"

The world exploded.

Laughter carried over the thundering waves and screaming lightning as if from a demented Valkyrie, come not to collect bodies but to leave them behind. Whoever it was, I didn't care. Rage and joy and belonging crashed through me like a tidal wave as blood and metal gave way to a winter storm. Nothing could beat me. _Top of the food chain!_ I shrieked in my head.

 _...oh._ I'm _laughing. And why shouldn't I? I win, you lose! Nyah!_

When the hurricane cleared, no trace remained of Oshiro's cramped dungeon-world. We stood atop rocks, the Zanpakutou on a flat slab of granite while I balanced on top of stone clearly placed to mimic a mountain peak. A sloping rock stood between us as though trying to make peace.

Too bad. Despite the smooth white sand of a Zen garden raked around the rocks and temple I saw out of the corner of my eye, I wasn't in a mood to be fucking peaceful today.

"Maybe you control your world, but I control mine!" I snarled at the spirit in front of me. Human parts drenched and armor parts dented, he didn't look so formidable in the light of day. "Still want my power? Bring it!"

"How?!" He howled. With a shudder and the scream of metal on metal, his human parts twisted into armor to match the rest of his body. "The seals make Shinigami powerless!"

"But not Zanpakutou," my spirit's voice said, calm as it cut through the armored man's voice like a well-placed knife. She materialized, wraithlike, from the koi pond bordering the rock garden, approaching with the same eerie grace she'd shown in Oshiro's world. "Those marks seal one person, not the spirit bonded to them."

The armored man was done talking. I leaped off of my rock as he stamped his foot like a petulant child, a burst of blades exploding where I'd been a second before. A forest of metal sprouted around Arashi, as I'd decided to call her, who continued to advance, untouched by the weapons.

"Daoshi," Arashi intoned, face still set in an implacable, rice-powder-pale mask as I landed not-so-gracefully on the sand. "This is our world, not the lair of an usurping vampire. Any effect he has is what we allow him."

What we allow- _Fuck yeah._

If the armor's helm could be said to have skin, it would've paled at the grin on my face.

"You wanted to be some kind of genius? The kind people remember?" I strode across the sand towards Arashi as I spoke. "Try 'forgotten in pieces beneath an ocean.'"

Arashi was far too dignified to laugh like me, but the whisper of her kimono told me as much as a huff from Shinji. "You ask a lot for an apprentice, daoshi," she said.

"You can deliver," I replied without a hint of doubt that it was true. "On three?"

"On three."

She drew a sword longer than a wakizashi, yet shorter than a katana, hilt wrapped in blue and sword guard a circle made of crescents. Not as poetic as Byakuren or as in-your-face as Zangetsu, but way cooler for all that. I wrapped my hand around the hilt beneath hers, once again engulfed in overlong sleeves. Together we raised the sword high above our heads.

"One," Arashi and I said in unison. The armored spirit stood frozen like the proverbial deer in headlights. "Two."

Right about then, the spirit finally realized we meant business. We let him get a few steps away before the sword fell.

The mountainside turned white with rushing water, frothing torrents barely clearing my head. The streamers of lightning riding the tempest made me very glad that it had. I couldn't see what happened when it met its target, but the raw scream of pain I heard was enough. The water crashed over the sand, to the very edge of the garden—and over.

For a long minute Arashi and I stood like that, sword held high as we stared at the water, vanishing from the sand as though it had never been.

The world shook, bluebird sky turning to night, and my mountain garden shattered.

* * *

"Nariko? Nariko!" A boy's voice, one I dimly registered as familiar. Thin, kinda awkward. Who did I know like that? "Nari- Gah!"

I jolted awake, eyes flying open. I sat up so fast I nearly clocked Aizen in the head. His dripping wet head.

A look around revealed a room that could've belonged to any dorm room, save for the layer of dust covering everything. Oh, and the copious amounts of dried blood. Less dry now, as it looked like someone had turned a fire hose on the place. Which made me acutely aware of how very dry I was. And the stench of burned something that might explain that.

"A-Aizen?" I said. Stopped, when it came out hoarse, like I hadn't used it for years. "Wha- Agh! Sorry. Aizen-san?"

I really had to ask that question, too. He looked like a different person, glasses gone and so pale he might as well have had no blood at all.

"We have to go," he gasped, forehead wrinkling like he was in physical pain. "Please-"

I nodded, grabbing a rotted bedpost and shoving myself to my feet

"Be mindful of me, daoshi." Arashi, finally as loud as other Zanpakutou. But how-? "Look down."

I looked.

 _Holy shit, tessen._ Sure enough, my other hand was clenching a pair of war fans, plain indigo silk stretched between shining silver ribs that looked uncomfortably sharp. Great. Yet another way to cut my hands open.

The second I was up, Aizen was dragging me out of the room through a door reduced to splinters. As we went, I discovered a building much in the same style of the dorm room, if marginally less bloody. An old dormitory, I guessed. Probably didn't want to know why it wasn't in use anymore.

"H-how'd you find me?" I had the presence of mind to ask when we were in daylight again. _Sweet, sweet daylight. I thought I'd never say this, but I love the day right now._

Aizen didn't answer for several minutes, evidently too focused on getting me as far away from that building as humanly possible.

"It doesn't matter," he answered finally. "You're safe. We need to find your brother before tears up campus looking for you. And before Oshiro comes back."

I shuddered, mind trying very hard not to remember the charcoal form that had been so, so close to me. If Aizen wasn't focusing on it, I wasn't. "He's dead. You don't- you don't come back from that."

"People can survive a lot." He said it flatly, not a hint of the syrupy tones I knew he'd eventually attain. "Don't. Take. Chances."

I swallowed hard. "That's- that's not what I mean. He wasn't Oshiro. He- I think he was Oshiro's Zanpakutou. Possessing him, or something like that. He tried to kill me in his soul world. Only- it didn't stick." I twitched the hand holding my tessen. "I think I got Shikai."

Aizen spared a slight smile for me. "At least one of you survived that untarnished. She's beautiful."

I tried for a grin and ended up with something that probably looked more like a minor facial seizure. "One of us has to be." Wait, had I said that? Or had someone with my voice said that? It was hard to say. Something else was definitely putting one foot in front of the other; I was way too tired to be doing that. Everything was going hot, and cold, and hot again.

Yet again, everything went white.

* * *

This time when I woke, I knew exactly where I was. The infirmary was really the only place to go after passing out.

"Nariko!" A slender body awkwardly wrapped around mine. I sniffed, breathing being the only action I had the energy for right about now, and didn't smell sandalwood. Shinji, then. The layered uniforms didn't always make it easy to tell. He held the hug for a few happy seconds before pulling away. I made a noise to make him come back—I was cold, dammit!—but Shinji ignored my pleas. "Ya moron! Ya just got me shown up by Aizen!"

A sniffing noise came from somewhere to my right. "You were the first to point out that Nariko-san doesn't skip class, Shinji-san. That counts for something."

He snorted. "Not enough if ya dragged her back all bloody. What the hell happened? Oshiro's dead, they're findin' a buncha the kids who disappeared's bodies, ya got Shikai... Jeez, ya just had ta show me up!"

"Hirako-kun..." Shinju said plaintively. Was she on my right or left? Things were getting spinny again...

"Please step away from the patient," a soft female voice, clipped yet gentle in the way only a nurse had, said. Another face appeared above me and some dim emotion stirred in the abyss of fatigue filling me. I wasn't completely sure whether it was fear or awe. Could be either, given the face above me belonged to Unohana friggin' Retsu. I couldn't quite bring myself to swear. She'd know. I didn't know how she'd know, but she would. "I wouldn't want to be forced to remove unauthorized persons, even close friends and her brother."

Everyone kindly shut up. The part of me paying attention wondered if Nanase was there—Minoru I could imagine not saying anything, but Nanase had exactly no concept of silence. The part of me already drifting back into sleep—the dominant part—didn't particularly care.

"Now, Hirako Nariko-chan. Exactly how is it that you managed to disrupt your reiryoku so severely that the faculty at the Academy saw fit to send for me?" Her smile had the sweetness of anyone else's genuine smile; its rigidity was all that indicated otherwise.

"M' Zanpak'tou spirit an' I got really pissed off," I mumbled. Breathing enough to speak hurt. Screw Tokyo-ben and dignity right now. "We kinda... drowned Oshiro's Zanpak'tou spirit."

Unohana was quiet for a few moments. "That would be sufficient to explain it," she murmured at last. "A maturing soul is generally less receptive to the introduction of order than a fully developed one."

Shinji saw fit to pipe up right about then. "Erm, Captain Unohana? Ain't ya gonna ask how she got the thing anyway? Or why she drowned our teacher's soul?" He wilted at the look she gave him—a look I couldn't quite get worked up about, given that it was measuring rather than harsh. "If'n ya want her ta explain, I mean."

"Hirako Shinji-kun," Unohana said, folding her hands in front of her. "I would remind you not to attempt this in the future. Your sister's injuries are the only reason I tolerate it now."

"Yes'm."

She turned back to me. "But your brother raises a point that I think may be significant. Shikai is... very, very rarely achieved in your year." A particular piece on the age of souls vs. Zanpakutou development that I'd read probably would've said 'never,' but I didn't particularly want to quibble. Especially since memories seemed a little fuzzy right now. "Destroying another person's Zanpakutou is an equally rare achievement."

"'shiro wasn't there anymore," I managed. "His spirit implied that he hadn't been aroun' for a fair amount of time. That it... killed him when he tried ta destroy it." I closed my eyes for a couple seconds, seeing its nightmarish face caught between spirit and man again. I pried them open to avoid the temptation of falling asleep again. "It was psycho enough that I got that. It said that it kept killin' students with asauchi ta stay alive."

Unohana's elegant black brows furrowed. Damn, the manga didn't do her justice. "That would explain the worsening of Oshiro-sensei's health in the summer," she said, voice poised on the razor's edge between hard and quiet. "And how the state of his soul was resolved so very quickly in his time at Shin'ou, despite its severity."

"Na' Oshiro," I mumbled.

She turned steely blue eyes on me and I suddenly discovered how very, very cold the Academy could be in the summer. "For the purposes of our discussion, the being possessing Oshiro-sensei's body will be referred to as Oshiro-sensei himself. Is that clear, Hirako Nariko-chan?"

"Yes'm."

"Now. You say that you drowned Oshiro-sensei. I was under the impression, however, that such a thing was impossible in his own soul world," Unohana continued. "Please explain how such an event came about. I would hate, after all, to be informed that a problem had been dealt with only to have it resurface."

I squirmed, insofar as one could squirm lying on a bed. I hadn't figured that out either. "Uh... I don't think we were in his soul world. He was a Zanpak'tou spirit, so I think 'e used Kidou an' forced himself into mine. 'Cause I didn't have Shikai just then, it looked like his, an' when I got mine, it changed. When I did... I kinda made a flood, only there was lightnin', and it threw him off a cliff. I think the Kidou keepin' me there broke when he died."

Though they were already quiet, complete silence fell on my friends.

Unohana continued mercilessly. "Water and lightning, according to the current theories of elemental Zanpakutou, cannot be contained in one sword." The look on her face didn't say it was impossible, though. Actually, it looked more like a scientist with a particularly interesting specimen to dissect.

"Ask Aizen-han," I mumbled, blush staining my cheeks as I fell into the worst depths of Kansai-ben. "We were talkin' 'bout it an' I never thought it was impossible. Maybe that messed with her."

"Your spirit?" she asked, arching an elegant black brow.

"Yeah, her." A giggle trickled out of me at my own nonchalance and the floodgates opened. Everything was all nice and fuzzy and friendly... except for the huge green shimmery thing lurking behind Unohana. Whatever. "Like it weren't enough ta have all the Zanpak'tou yappin' at me, I get one more. Byakuren an' Engetsu an' Oshiro's an' Tennyou no Rai'arashi. That makes... five? Four, four. But five if Minazuki says anythin'. Maybe. One plus one plus one plus one plus one equals five, except when it doesn't." I giggled again. "An' then sometimes I think Shinji's is startin' ta get an idea of itself, only maybe that's him bein' dumb, 'cause Shinji's dumb."

This time the pause was practically tangible.

"Out," Unohana ordered, half-turning to catch my assembled friends in a gaze that I imagined made her seem very captainly indeed. "Including you, Hirako Shinji-kun."

When the last person had shut the door behind them, she turned back to me. Pale green light shone on her palm as Unohana reached out a hand to me. I shut my eyes as she laid it on my forehead and-

What the heck? What was wrong with me? This was Unohana friggin' Retsu here! Ex-Kenpachi and Terror of the Fourth! Nothing fuzzy and warm and friendly about it! And what had I been saying?! I shot up, ignoring the protests of muscles that wanted to rest for the next five years.

"Please don't strain yourself, Hirako-chan," Unohana said, turning a sapphire gaze on me that better suited a tiger. Or Yamamoto. It was that sort of guilty-until-proven-innocent look. "I only lifted that Kidou so that we might discuss your... statements."

State- Shit. "What did you do to me?" I burst out, feeling sick and scared and angry all at once. "That was supposed to be secret!"

Unohana lifted white-clad shoulders. "Standard procedure for healing patients with unknown injuries is to place a Kidou on them to lower inhibitions. Very delicate, as I'm sure you understand, and unfortunately limited to incapacitated patients." Otherwise the Onmitsukidou would use it, went unsaid. "Many members of the Eleventh would refuse to disclose the nature of their injuries otherwise."

I bit back a snarl. "I told you how I got hurt!" I said, scrunching my sheets in my hands to keep from lunging for Arashi, wherever she was.

"Yet you neglected to include the discovery of your... abilities," Unohana replied, clasping her hands in front of her so tightly I thought she was trying not to strangle me. "A key point." Which really sounded more like 'something that you could be thrown in prison for.'

I sighed. No point in getting angry at someone who could flatten me with a sidelong glance. "Yeah, because I didn't 'discover' them just now. I've been... hearing things since Yamada-senpai—Yamada Seinosuke—attacked me the second time. And I started hearing something like my Zanpakutou spirit shortly after we received asauchi." I couldn't help the hunch of my shoulders and set of my jaw. I hadn't fought off Oshiro just to get punished for a useless ability I couldn't help. "Everybody's good at something. I'm good at listening."

Unohana regarded me for a long moment before sighing. "Then you are unaware of the implications and history of abilities such as yours."

I glanced away. "I only figured out what was going on last night and Oshiro-sensei banned me from the library before that. I didn't have time to look it up."

Unohana's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then let me inform you. A sense of reiatsu is common to souls. Shinigami alone have the ability to focus this sense." She lifted a pale hand, a gauzy red ribbon materializing out of nowhere to wrap around it for an instant before dissolving. "Shinigami with the ability to further focus their sense of reiatsu are uncommon. Your level of 'listening' ability, while too nebulous to truly compare to others', is unprecedented. You belong to a clan that deals in information and its concealment. I'm sure you don't require an explanation as to why an undetectable informant on military officers would be considered undesirable."

Had I said the room was warm? More like arctic-blizzard-cold. I glanced down at bloodless, still hands and gulped. "But... I don't want to be an informant. I'm not even on the Onmitsukidou track!"

Unohana shook her head, glossy black braid swinging like a pendulum with the motion. "You are a teenage girl, not yet finished your second decade, under the authority of a clan that has supplied the second-in-commands of the Patrol Corps for the past six centuries, scarcely begun training as a Shinigami. My unseated officers have more control over their actions than you have of your own." Translation: you don't get a say in any of that.

I laced my fingers together and dragged my eyes up to hers. "Captain Unohana-sama, I think you're overestimating my value to my clan. Shinji's the heir and the captain-to-be." I sighed. The room was getting spinny again. "I had to beg just to go here. They don't think enough of me to press me into that sort of service. And my ability doesn't have combat application anyway. I hear what the Zanpakutou say to their Shinigami, not the other way around. I don't have much range, I can't use it for tracking, and the most it would be is a distraction." I laid the facts out for her one by one, like hanafuda. _See, I'm not worth much_ , I thought desperately at her. _I'm not even rebellious._

Everything lit up like a Christmas tree. I yelped, shutting my eyes tight against the brightness, but eyelids meant nothing to it. The light seared itself into my brain, brighter and brighter. A thousand people speaking in a thousand voices drowned out Unohana, surging louder and louder until I thought my skull would burst. My throat burned with screams I couldn't hear. _Too much too much make it stop go away!_

Silence and darkness. I cracked open watering eyes. The room flickered into view, with the addition of a car-sized Komodo dragon crouched behind an impassive Unohana.

And because the universe hated me, oblivion hit me like a ton of bricks for the third time in a row.

* * *

The period of time following that might've been a day, or a minute. I experienced it as a stream of moments, voices drifting in and out of hearing. Sometimes they were so sharp my eardrums nearly burst, other times they whispered like Arashi's waves. Images, textures, and smells occasionally made their appearance, but the world was too bright to form distinct shapes, the only textures were the prick of needles and the brush of fingers, and all I could smell was anesthetic. ink, and roast meat.

That last one was me, as it turned out. Kidou seals on the skin, while convenient, were painful, permanent, and insanely complex, needing Kidou to do the job well. Kidou being what it was, a process similar to branding worked the best.

I woke after a millennium and a second, concentrating all my strength into my eyelids to lift their mountainlike weight. The numbing effect of the anesthetic kept me too cold to panic when the only things I saw were a bunch of blurry blobs, but that too was resolved when one of them started making noise.

"Hirako-chan, your eyes should adjust momentarily. The effects of the seals take time to integrate into your system." That was... someone familiar's voice. Scary but polite. Sounded like flowers... Unohana. Who, incidentally, was correct: after a few seconds, the world swam into focus.

I blinked a couple times, marveling at how darkness came and went. My eyes felt heavy in a way that fatigue had nothing to do with. My ears were similar, only they felt like someone had pushed invisible earplugs into them.

"You've caused us a fair amount of trouble, girl," another woman's voice creaked. "The Kidou Corps isn't in the habit of coming out for brats like you." I let my head flop to the side and saw a woman who looked like she'd been carved out of a mountain, face a leathery mass of wrinkles, hair wispy and white, and clad in the ornate robes of the Grand Kidou Chief.

"Thanks," I croaked, throat for all the world a desert. "Kidou Corps Commander. Ma'am."

She sniffed. "Don't call me that. Anyone could lead today's idiots." She eyed me as though I was one of those idiots. "A full two days we've labored over you and the only good that's come out of it is the invention of new seals that'll likely never be approved anyway."

"Now, Xun-san," Unohana chided, "it's important to preserve the younger generation."

Xun waved away the statement. "And why is that? Empty heads, the lot of them, not a speck of knowledge drifting around in there even if they could focus for a second, let alone think for themselves. Mark my words, the second I'm gone the Corps will go downhill."

Good thing I'm not entering them, I thought, but kept my parched mouth shut.

Unohana's smile, evidently, hadn't changed in the two days I'd been out, or possibly ever. "I'm sure that someone will step up to take your place. The Tsukabishi boy looks promising, someday."

Xun waved that away too, turning and walking out of my field of vision. "An orphan fostered by a clan that talks with their fists and thinks with their royal jewels—and I don't mean just their wealth. It'll be a miracle if he doesn't end up with a cloth over his pate. If that's all, Captain, I'll be returning to the Archive, where I can do work that matters."

Unohana inclined her head, but said nothing. Looked like even centuries of practice at etiquette could only go so far for a person like Xun. When Xun was gone, Unohana turned and extended a hand to me. I took it and discovered rather abruptly that trying to sit up on my own wasn't necessary. Healer or no, Unohana was strong.

"If you'll walk around a bit, Hirako-chan," she said, "the movement should start the movement of your reiryoku again. I'm afraid Xun-san and I had to slow its pulse in order to place the seals upon you."

Interesting. So reiryoku had a flow like blood? I stood and began to shuffle around the room obediently. A wave of relief swamped me as I saw Arashi on a generic sword mounting, much like those some teachers mounted their own Zanpakutou on above their desks without the personalization those usually had.

 _Soon_ , I thought in the direction of electric potential in watery veils. _I'm going to treat you with the respect you deserve._

Excellent pulsed from the sword. I spared a second to be sad about that, simply because having a connection to my Zanpakutou that was so strong I heard her like a corporeal person was cool. But the seals—which I was guessing blocked my abilities—were ultimately the better solution. Much more convenient, and I wouldn't be flagged as a potential traitor by the Gotei because of my abilities. I refused to call them powers, since that implied something that was actually useful.

As I walked in circles, my reiatsu sense sharpened—like listening between radio channels and then switching to a specific channel, the vague signals resolved themselves into information that actually made sense. By the time I'd walked eight or so circles, I felt human again.

"Captain Unohana-sama?" I asked. "What exactly do the seals do?"

Her lips twitched into what might have been a genuine smile. "Curious as your brother, yet more polite. How pleasant. There are many theories I could explain to you about the sort of sealing Xun-san and I used on you, but given your level of schooling I think that would confuse you more than help. The end result is, as I'm sure you've already suspected, that your sensitivity to Zanpakutou is substantially dulled. Not an easy task to perform without removing your sense of reiatsu altogether."

I couldn't help the frown that crossed my face. "So that's it? The nail that sticks up is hammered down?"

Unohana's brows drew together to mirror me. "As I was about to say, you can partially deactivate the seals if the situation requires it. The Captain-Commander would not want to restrict the capabilities of a promising Shinigami, after all. Touch them and apply a small amount of reiryoku and your abilities will be restored. Do so again with the intent of sealing them and the seals will activate. Xun-san was rather adamant that you be able to activate your sight of Zanpakutou spirits and your ability to hear them separately to limit the potential for distraction, so you may do that as well."

I raised my hands to where my skin felt the most raw, tentatively rubbing my ears and the area around my eyes. Ordinary, if tender skin—was there really anything there?

"In the interests of whatever match the Hirako may arrange, I applied a technique my division's members use to minimize scars," Unohana added. "Others may see the markings from certain angles and in certain lights, but the ink we used is white, so they should be unobtrusive."

And that answered that question. I sighed happily, letting my hands fall back to my sides. All fronts clear—classmates, whatever romantic prospects, if any, that would come, and my future coworkers. I couldn't imagine that the stigma of tattoos was entirely nonexistent here. Plus, it would've driven me up the wall to answer a thousand questions about the sudden ink on my skin. I mean, telling people that 'the Kidou Corps Commander and Captain of the Fourth put seals on me to control my quasi-psychic powers' probably would raise even more annoying questions.

I bowed from the waist. "Thank you for your efforts, Captain Unohana-sama. My ears and eyes appreciate them." I shuffled my feet. Abrasive or not, Xun had contributed, but she'd left, so should I...? "If you get a chance, please tell Chief Xun-sama that I extend my gratitude to her as well." One thing I'd learned when dealing with important people: flowery was the way to go.

Unohana nodded. "If I should see Xun-san, I will notify her of your gratitude. Now, if you would please collect your Zanpakutou, one of my unseated officers will escort you back to Shin'ou Academy. It wouldn't do for you to miss further classes."

I was at the door, Arashi thrust through my belt, when Unohana cleared her throat. Gah. Was there something else I needed to know about the superpowers that I was apparently the only one to not value? I half-turned, just in case she wanted to stab me. One could never be sure with an ex-Kenpachi.

"Oh, and Hirako-chan? Please take care not to let your abilities become known. The relevant teachers have been notified in the event that you have complications, but it would be a shame if the Onmitsukidou took an interest in you, wouldn't it?" Unohana's smile was distinctly sharp. "I couldn't predict how much influence I would have if your case came to their notice."

I gulped. Translation: don't use your powers or else. "Y-yes, Captain Unohana-sama."

* * *

Returning to Shin'ou was a remarkably boring journey. To my relief, I didn't see anyone important and the unseated officer—a middle-aged man, remaining hair pulled into a tight topknot—didn't stick around after we arrived at Shin'ou or try to talk to me on the way. Business as usual was back.

"And exactly what happened to you?!" Himura demanded, throwing up his hands. "No, wait, don't answer that. I'm sure I don't want to know." His eyes flicked over to Akane, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she tried to pretend she wasn't listening.

Ah. _So you were one of the teachers Unohana told._ I smiled sheepishly. "I guess I have a talent for getting into trouble?" I laughed, the sound so high and nervous it didn't sound like mine. "At least I'm not banned from the library anymore."

Himura hesitated for a second—actually hesitated, really. I just about dropped dead of shock. After a second, he barked over his shoulder, "Choujuno! You're not needed today. Go back to your magic!"

"Sir!" She called back. Himura waited until she'd gathered up her knives and pins and flounced out before he spoke again, more quietly than I'd ever heard him.

"Sit down, Hirako. Seiza or otherwise, I don't care."

I knelt, folding myself into seiza. Himura didn't do quiet, and in my experience plausible deniability was easiest to maintain with a little formality in place.

"Sir?" I said, twisting my fingers in my obi.

He ignored me, walking to the edge of the room and taking a stance I'd never seen before, more relaxed than his usual. A little like the basic Shifting Moon stance, actually. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. What the actual fuck?

I watched him walk the perimeter in that stance, every movement completely smooth and centered. Better than I could ever hope to be. And stranger. Every movement carried the ghostly flicker of Kidou. Like-

Like Shunkou, I realized. Proto-Shunkou, even. He mentioned using reiryoku to increase endurance... wasn't Shunkou similar?

Not important right now, I decided as I watched him. Half-consciously, my fingertips brushed just above my eyes. What did using Kidou do to a Zanpakutou spirit?

My hands fell into my lap again as he neared the place where he'd started. The incantation Himura had been chanting throughout, barely audible when he'd started, had grown to a kiai-like shout. One final step and the whole place lit up deep orange, sheets of fire rolling over every surface of the dojo. Himura turned, straightening, and the fire vanished, leaving only afterimages when I blinked.

Some time between blinks, he arrived in front of me, mirroring my seiza, albeit a little slower to allow for what I presumed were creaky knees.

"I thought Kidou incantations were in Japanese," I said, trying to redirect the conversation before Himura turned it into An Important Talk. I'd had that before, thank you.

He grunted. "I may be a Himura, but my father's all Korean. He taught me a few nonstandard Kidou before Hueco Mundo got him, scatter their sands." Himura swept a hand across the ground in a gesture I'd seen a thousand times but never quite understood until now. "A fair bit of Ordered Strength Hakuda, too. Makes good training for you."

I nodded, filing that away. It wasn't at all unheard of for men to go live with their wives' clans, or for children to be sent to live with the clan one parent had left if it was decided that they'd fit that clan better, but learning that Himura was half-Korean still surprised me, somehow.

 _Guess you don't know much about your teachers_ , a little voice in the back of my mind whispered. I shushed it, shivering. Himura was fine. I was fine. I was fine.

Himura caught it with a frown. "And that's why I wanted to talk to you." He sighed, placing his hands on his knees. "Hirako, I don't know if you realize this, but you killed a man. That-"

The world blurred out. _You killed a man._ I _killed a man. I killed someone. Murderer. Murderermonsterwrong. That's me. I said I wouldn't hurt anyone but-_

 _Breathe!_ Arashi screamed in my soul. _The sky's going dark in here, daoshi. Tunnel vision helps no one!_

I breathed, and saw the world blossom back into focus from pinpricks. Oxygen helps, I told myself, reaching for the harsh truth that panic had chased away. _Breathe. And stop lying. Remember what you said to Shinju._

"I- I know," I whispered. "I knew I'd have to, eventually, just- not this soon. But he wasn't going to back down. He wasn't," I insisted. "He was a monster; I found him when I stumbled on a girl's body." And I didn't want to think about the hair sticky with blood, the cool skin with a fading pulse beneath. I didn't. But I did anyway. "I had to do it. I- I decided that a long time ago. That I can't be afraid to kill someone who's going to kill me. 'Cause I'm the better choice for staying alive." I offered Himura a shaking smile. "Right?"

He looked at me levelly. "Yeah. You think I want a blade-breaking freak of nature alive with a kid who could be a lieutenant dead? Hell no. It's sure as fuck hard to say, but it was a traitor. You don't leave scum like that alive when you've rooted them out."

I swallowed back bile that rose at hearing my future self described that way. "People call me a traitor," I said, fighting the rasp in my throat as emotion I couldn't afford to show choked me up.

"People are stupid as fuck," Himura said, making a sound that might've been a chuckle. "You just got rid of a monster by your own admission. From what I'm told, it was the closest thing you can be to a Hollow without a hole in your chest. That's pretty damn loyal to me. You're a good kid, Hirako. I'm not gonna make you question whether you did the right thing. You did. You took the only option you had and that monster won't kill any more of our students. Good in anyone's book." He took a deep breath. "I'm talking to you because I've seen good Shinigami whose only chink in the armor was that they couldn't kill. Not without breaking."

I bit a dry lip. "Ounabara-sensei said that any killing for Soul Society was good," I parroted back. Each word tasted like poison. But technically it wasn't a lie. I didn't think that. I couldn't. I was just quoting. "But... you're saying that you can be a good Shinigami and not want to kill."

Himura grunted. "Sure as hell can. No one should want to kill. Being a good Shinigami means knowing that you have to. Don't misunderstand me," he warned. "I'm not saying they were good Shinigami. Just that they were otherwise good people who happened to be Shinigami."

 _No!_ I shrieked. _No! People aren't good! Not when this is the sort of society they produce!_ I stared at the planks of the floor. "Don't you ever wonder?" I asked, hoping beyond hope. _Please. You have to pardon me._ "Is killing for Soul Society is always right?"

Himura gave me a long, hard look. "I used to, when I was your age. Then I grew up and read some history. You think this place was always orderly? Before Central 46 and all that junk, Soul Society was chaos. The clans were at each others' throats. There was more blood than water flowing here. Even after the Gotei got established and the 46 started setting down laws, people fought it. People that were a hell of a lot more like that Zanpakutou thing than me and you. Those laws that you greenhorns call harsh saved us." He glanced down at calloused hands, turning them palm up. "There're always going to be questions in the back of your mind. And you have to tell them to shut up. Because maybe that one guy didn't have to die. Maybe this order didn't have to be followed, or that kid had an excuse for breaking the law. But the system is bigger than you and your conscience. It works because we all follow the law. We do what's right and send people on to the Living World when the balance demands it. And everybody else keeps on living their lives."

The world burned red. I yanked my reiatsu back beneath my skin to keep from exploding at him. _You're wrong!_ screamed every part of me, save for the one part that couldn't decide if it wanted to sob or kill Himura. His reasons made too much sense, even if everything else was jarringly wrong. Even if Soul Society needed so much changing that my mind wanted to collapse imagining the scope of it all.

"I understand," I said, voice far too confident to my ears and words far too honest to my brain. "Thank you."

Himura nodded. "You're promising, Hirako, even if you'd rather study Hakuda styles than practice them. It's a bit early to have this talk, but do you know what division you'll go into? I won't be offended if you don't choose the Fifth," he added when I hesitated.

I laced my fingers together. "The Ninth or Twelfth, I think," I said.

Himura nodded again. "You'd better be prepared for a captain with even more of a stick up his ass than me," he warned. "They've got a tradition of that, the Ninth. Twelfth's more of a mixed bag—purpose changes with every captain. Captain Than Sein's got them doing all kinds of stuff in the Living World these days. If he's still around when you've graduated, might fit you well. Why those?"

I shrugged. "Rukongai needs order like the Ninth brings," I said. "And security sounds like a pretty good problem to put my mind to. The Twelfth?" I shrugged helplessly. "I kinda liked their flower's symbolism?"

This time Himura's laugh sounded slightly less like choking than it had before. "Here I think you've got a brain in your head and then you go and say shit like that." He shook his head.

"You sound like Xun-sama," I said immediately. A little less abrasive, granted, but he did.

"Xun-sama?" Himura frowned, expression clearing as he placed the name. "Oh, the Kidou Corps Commander? Forgot you met her. She's supposed to be somethin', alright." He leaned forward. "Hey, Captain Unohana told me you could see Zanpakutou spirits. Let's see. I won't rat you out."

I swallowed hard. Was this a test of character? Did I say yes or no? "I mean, I said I wouldn't," I began.

Himura shook his head, cutting me off. "I'm serious, brat. I want to see if you're the real deal."

I sighed, but raised my hands to my face anyway. A spark of reiryoku sprang to my fingers and when I opened my eyes again, the world was... less bright than I'd expected, actually. It was like I was seeing everything through dark sunglasses. Except Himura.

He glinted with tiger-orange light, stabbing out into space and flickering over his skin. What was more interesting, though, was the large lion-dog crouched beside him, curly red-gold fur rippling like fire caught in a draft. I tapped my right fist to the opposite palm in a student-to-teacher bow, just in case he could affect me. As my efforts to not get noticed by the universe had failed, I decided not to chance it.

"A lion-dog," I said. "Dark reddish-gold." A description from a story-book flickered back into my mind, and I grinned. "Komainu, I think the right word is."

Himura nodded. "Put- put the seal back, Hirako," he ordered, oddly vehement for a simple request.

A brush of my fingers over my eyes again and the world wobbled back to its normal appearance. "What?" I asked.

Himura shifted uncomfortably. "Not your eyes I saw just now," he said. "Not a great deal different, just- unnerving to see them change. What color were they as a kid?"

I shrugged. "Brown like anyone else's, I bet. They were different?"

"Not one color or the next," he said. "Bit of green, blue, brown, grey."

Ah. That was much more comforting to hear than some unnatural color. I'd been hoping to avoid purple. Hazel was my normal eye color, actually, but no pair was alike. Mine usually leaned towards brown. "The word you're looking for is hazel," I replied. "Point is, was I right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, right on. Damn good javelin when he's released."

Melee-type, most likely. Or knowing how underhanded Himura was, something that looked like melee but exploded when he threw it.

"And you have one of your own," Himura said, nodding over at Arashi on her rack by the door. Poor thing looked like it'd held so many Zanpakutou that it would collapse the next time someone set their sword there. "Techniques?"

I shook my head, giving him the Cheshire Cat grin my family did so well. "I wouldn't tell you even if I had some," I replied. "That's just stupid."

He frowned. "Zanpakutou give a technique at the beginning of training—otherwise it wouldn't be training. You have to have one."

I shrugged, seeing an opportunity to put my silly facade into action. "Not me, I guess!" I chirped, smiling sheepishly. "Actually, we were kinda so focused on not dying that she said I'd have to earn her later."

Himura sighed, massaging his temples. "Then get over to the registration building, you idiot girl! They'll have somewhere you can learn! Lesson over!"

I sighed back. "Fine, fine. I'll get to that after I check in with Shinji. He's probably going nuts."

"As long as you get around to it at all," Himura said, getting to his feet. I followed his lead, wincing at the prickle of feet about to fall asleep. "I wanna be able to point to an official document and say one of my students had the record for the earliest Zanpakutou ever."

I blushed, traipsing over to my bundle of stuff and collecting it. As I thrust Arashi through my obi and stepped out the door, I called back, "I'm no one's trophy, sensei!"

His laugh followed me all the way down the hall.

* * *

"Nariko!"

"Nari-nee!"

"Hirako-chan!

"Nariko-san!"

I got the last one twice, actually, once from Aizen and once from Minoru. At least, I thought it was Minoru. Couldn't quite tell while being squished between Shinju and Shinji.

"Gak! Air!" I squeaked when I could catch a breath that didn't smell like sandalwood or teenage boy. "Kinda need that!"

They stepped away, leaving me to gasp dramatically while I tried to compose responses to the inevitable questions.

"So what's this I hear about ya gettin' Shikai and upstagin' me?" Shinji demanded. Ah, yes, there was the bluntness of the Hirako men I'd missed. Somehow. "Lemme see!"

I drew Arashi from her sheath obediently, holding her in a standard kendo pose. "Thoughts?" I said.

All my friends crowded around this time, peering at my sword.

"Not long enough for a katana or short enough for a wakizashi," Aizen observed, tilting his head birdlike at me. "I thought it was a pair of tessen, not a chiisgatana."

I thought I'd left the delicious sensation of learning a new word behind when I'd finally become fluent in Japanese. Clearly I was wrong. "This is her sealed form," I said, putting special emphasis on the pronoun so I didn't have Arashi nagging me to stick up for her. "At least, I think so. Technically I don't have Shikai yet since she didn't have time to give me a technique."

Shinji crowed with laughter. "Ha, see there," he told everyone else. "Told ya I could catch up!"

I turned my best sickly-sweet smile on him as I sheathed Arashi. "Not really. I'm heading over to get her registered after this. Himura-sensei said they've got rooms for people who know they're close and don't want to wreck their bedrooms."

His face dropped so fast it was almost comical. "Aww, c'mon!" Shinji considered for a second before his smug smile reappeared. "Well, it'll only be a little bit longer 'til I get one! An' I won't have a girly weapon!"

My smile widened into smug smirk territory. "Sorry. Reason I'm doing that today is that Himura-sensei wants to brag about having the youngest student to get Shikai." I savored the shock on their faces, letting a little pause hang there before I added, "Ever."

"...maybe I should study more," Nanase managed. My eyes locked on him, slight frown crossing my face. Seeing Nanase reminded me that he was my current biggest problem to straighten out, Momohiko being a lesser concern if I knew how well the rumor mill worked here. The story of my confrontation with Oshiro would've spread across campus before even one of the days I'd been missing had passed. Nanase beamed at me, eyes crinkled practically to slits with how wide his smile was. _He looks less like a kicked puppy than he used to_ , I noted affectionately. "I mean, now the standard's so high! The Gotei'll never let me in if I don't have something to recommend me!"

I grinned. "You'll be fine, Nanase-kun—can I call you that?" At his nod, I continued, "Gotei'll take just about everyone, I hear. I mean, you might be unseated, but still."

"Yeah, yeah, enough about the tagalong, what about ya, Narin?" Shinji interrupted. I frowned sharply at him. _Dammit, Shinji, I'm trying to get close to Nanase! Your paranoia can come later!_ "Oshiro didn't hurt ya? Why'd Unohana grab ya? Is that ink on yer face?"

"I'm fine, no, not allowed to tell you, and ditto," I said wearily. "Can we get back to something that's actually interesting?"

Shinju nudged me. "Oh, come on. You can spare some time to let your little brother fuss over you, you know?"

 _No, you can't, daoshi_ , Arashi argued. _We have to know!_

I suppressed a giggle at the lightning zing of curiosity in her voice. _Shinju's right_ , I replied. _My relationship with her and with Shinji is more important than finding out what Nanase's hiding right now. And before you argue, yes, every interaction counts._

Disappointment rolled back to me like muddy water, but there was grudging understanding mixed in with it. No problems with my Zanpakutou just yet, thankfully.

"Fine, fine," I said aloud. "It's complicated, but Captain Unohana-sama put seals on my face. I'm not completely sure what they do or how they work, but she thought they were necessary." I shrugged, as if to say, 'Who would argue with Unohana?' and hoped they took that for an answer.

"Ya ain't tellin' the full story," Minoru observed, narrowed brown eyes shaded by unkempt hair.

Genius. I rolled my eyes at him. "And like I said, I'm not allowed to tell you on pain of onmitsu."

Shinju's eyebrows flew up. "Oh, that's not good." I refrained from saying 'no shit.' "Can't you get your family to intervene?"

I shook my head. "Wish I could, but that'd do more harm than good. Don't suppose yours has any sway there?" I said half-heartedly. The chance of that wasn't too likely, since the Shihouin had something of a monopoly on information and espionage, but all of the Great Noble Houses had some way of keeping tabs on their rivals.

She bit her lip. "None. Isn't there anything we can do?" Shinju directed that question at Shinji, which made a bit of sense. Odds were he'd have more knowledge about our clan capabilities than me.

Shinji shrugged, tilting his head back to let the sun gild it. "Sounds like as long as Narin doesn't mess with whatever the seals do she'll be fine. Better protection than anything Dad could give her."

I smiled. Second tenet of the Hirako: don't waste energy on a solution when you can avoid creating a problem. "Yeah, makes sense enough." I took a seat in a patch of shade and patted the pollen-smeared stone beside me. "Have you fussed enough now? I want to know what I've missed."

Taking seats of their own, my friends were happy to spill. My Reiryoku Manipulation teacher had finally gotten together with the First's Twentieth Seat who'd been sneaking around campus with her ever since school had started. The Shiba Clan Head had stormed onto campus and ripped Isshin a new one over money issues. Classwork had been all but suspended with Oshiro's death, which had spawned more rumors than there were students. Momohiko, most interestingly, had actually shut up. Shinji's smug smile at that bit of information told me everything I needed to know about his involvement there.

"Nobles," Minoru muttered, but there was no bite to his words. "I swear I'd go right outta my head if I had to learn all those ceremonies and ranks and whatnot."

"I imagine you'll have to learn those anyway," Aizen observed, "with so many nobles being in the Gotei."

Nanase made a face. "Don't remind me," he groaned, flopping backwards onto some tree roots and immediately sitting bolt upright again when a particularly gnarly one dug into his back. I giggled. "You haven't heard anything yet. There're some kids in my Zanjutsu class who are already talking about cousins who can get a spot in this division or that division. Drives me nuts."

"It drives everyone nuts," Shinju said, "but we're just used to it." She twirled a lock of ashen hair around her finger. "My brother started telling me whose palms he'd have to grease to get me a seat in the Tenth before I even enrolled. Our parents scolded him so much for that." Her mouth turned briefly downward, as if she was reliving the argument. Shinju shrugged, smiling again. "That's life."

* * *

Eventually I did make it over to the registration building, no thanks to Himura. Directions would've been nice.

"Are you lost?" The woman at the front desk asked, peering down at me over an unnecessarily tall desk. "Or waiting for a friend, perhaps?"

I shook my head, sliding Arashi out of my obi. "It's a two-part trial," I explained, holding up Arashi for her to see. "Himura Kyou-sensei said I should come here."

She raised an eyebrow at the first part and sighed at the second. "I'll assume Himura-san knows what he's doing then. This isn't at all usual. Lisa!" She called over her shoulder.

"I'm coming, Keiko-soba!" A familiar no-nonsense voice called from one of the back rooms. _Dammit,_ I thought as its owner appeared, twirling a scroll like a baton.

Lisa, out of all the future Visoreds, had changed the least over the years. Blue-green eyes appraised me coolly from behind familiar red-rimmed glasses for a second before she glanced at the woman I presumed was her aunt. "What, did she get sentenced here too? i thought first-year delinquents got hit with safer stuff."

"I'm not a delinquent!" I protested before I could remember to keep sizing her up.

Lisa tossed her head, ink-black braid lashing like an aggravated cat's tail. "Not what I heard, but suit yourself."

The lack of malice in her voice didn't make the statement sting any less, but I didn't get the chance to say anything as Keiko intervened.

"She's... apparently here to achieve and register her Shikai." Keiko cast a doubtful look at Arashi again, rather stupidly, I thought. What else would I be doing with her? "Take her to one of the rooms and I'll let you leave early for the day."

Lisa nodded sharply and turned on her heel, leaving me to follow. I suspected she wouldn't care if I didn't. Regardless, I did, so I trotted after her.

"So, got an inkling?" she asked, maintaining the same blasé tone. Listening closely, I thought I heard an accent coloring her words. "Of what her name is?"

"Tennyou no Rai'arashi," I replied, enjoying the surprised twitch of her shoulders. "I did tell the woman at the desk that it was a two-part trial."

"Good for you," Lisa said after a second. I wondered where her own Zanpakutou was. As I recalled it was some kind of humongous polearm. "Alright, let's use this one." We stopped at a training room best described as spartan. As in, it had a few small, square windows cut into the wall—which, come to think of it, was incredibly weird to see after getting used to sliding screen walls—and a zabuton cushion in the middle and nothing else. No, that wasn't quite right. A nodachi lay by the cushion, half-sheathed. Lisa strode over, retrieved what I supposed was her Zanpakutou, and walked back over to me.

"Sorry. Keiko-soba lets me do jinzen in here when the place is slow. Usually is. Try not to blow yourself up." With that valuable wisdom dispensed, Lisa brushed past me and left, still twirling her scroll.

I stood there at the threshold for a second, butterflies beginning in my stomach. Stupid as it was, I couldn't get over the fact that in front of me was a milestone. All I had to do to reach it was walk in.

Arashi made a sound that was too polite to be called a snort. _You worry too much, daoshi. Now begin before I decide you are too delicate for me._

Delicate? Me? Ha. Still, they were the words I needed. I entered the room fully, shutting the door behind me just in case achieving Shikai brought a geyser again. Aizen hadn't seemed terribly happy to be soaked and I doubted anyone else would be.

I settled onto the cushion, deliberately delaying by folding my legs so my feet were soles-up on my thighs. Drawing Arashi, I laid her sheath in front of me and rested her across my lap. I put my hands on the blade, ready to call reiryoku to my hands like I had so many times before with Oshiro-

I swallowed hard, hot guilt displacing bubbly anticipation in my chest. I thought I'd long ago accepted the knowledge that as a Shinigami I'd have to kill. I'd said it to Oshiro and Shinju and been so sure. Really, truly thinking about it? My past self would've been sick. My present self felt a distant regret, the sort one would have for replacing a beloved but broken toy.

 _Arashi, am I damned?_ I asked.

The sensation of hesitation came before she answered. _If you are damned, then I am with you, daoshi._

 _I didn't mean that,_ I snapped. _Would He- did I- was it right?_ I scrabbled for long-unused tenets, for a faith in a God I was no longer sure existed, for anything that could justify or condemn me beyond a warped society.

Hesitation again, but gentler. _I believe so, daoshi. You sought to protect and save the lives of others. And if you still worry, I do not have to agree with you. That is the truth as I know it._

I knew that voice, mincing and unfailingly precise, if hesitant, with every word as it tried to present something complex simply. Arashi was mine for sure.

I shut my eyes and dove into the lightning-well inside.

There was no sensation of transition, of numbness or static or anything like that. I closed my eyes on a plain room and opened them to see a slightly less spartan temple, simple as that.

"I thought you'd change the world," I said aloud, assuming Arashi could hear me despite being nowhere in sight, "since you want to give me the test before real Shikai."

A fluttering sound came from behind me and I turned to see my Zanpakutou, every bit as regal as she had been against Oshiro. Although maybe I needed to check my belongings for rabbits' feet and four-leaf clovers, since it appeared that I had an inordinate tendency to encounter beautiful women. At least this one was beautiful in a more abstract way, like the moon on water, or a forest fire—remote and primal.

I frowned. "You're dressed differently," I said.

"I am dressed the same as ever," she replied. "I'm showing myself differently."

Ah, there was my daily dose of cryptic. The simple deep blue kimono she'd worn had been replaced by a five-tone chuufurisode, long sleeves falling to her knees. No better, its hem brushed the ground. The 'background' was now indigo, patterned with white and slightly lighter blue waves. Ethereal silver clouds shimmered above the waves, metallic gold thread forking down to imitate lightning. Even the maru obi she wore used those colors, thin gold and silver stripes on blue with a white obi cord. It was a dramatic kimono, the kind I'd always admired from afar but would never be caught dead wearing.

Some aspects had remained constant, I noted. Her chiisagatana hung at her side, tied tightly with a white cord. The wide sakkat still graced Arashi's head, opaque silver fabric hiding her hair like a curtain. White rice powder still made her face an unreadable ivory mask—by design, I suspected.

"Are you done admiring what your soul has produced?" Arashi's tone was wry. "We have a task before us."

That one sentence brought me firmly back to earth. I nodded sharply. "Let's do it."

Arashi drew her sealed form. The metal fractured, smoothed, and darkened into war fans. Taking one for herself, Arashi held out the other to me. I took it, flicking it open in front of my face unthinkingly.

Her eyes crinkled. "You carry out their intended function without even realizing, daoshi. Tell me, if you can, what a fan does."

I blinked. "It deflects, parries, cuts, clubs, signals troops, keeps you cool... what?"

She shook her head. Though I couldn't see much of her face, I could read exasperation in the lines of Arashi's body. She began to circle me, geta clicking on the floor. I matched her, crossing my steps carefully so I didn't ruin the moment by falling. "Perhaps you've spent so much time preparing for conflict that you've forgotten the arts of peace. True, a fan may deflect a strike, but it can also help you to avoid an uncomfortable question. It may accent a well-worded retort, or signal your mood, availability, interests... You are allowed to be a person before you are a tool, daoshi. The crimson girl is not the only one who can wear ornaments. The flower-shadow maiden is not the only one who can take time to grow up instead of rushing ahead." Arashi paused. "The true liar should not be the only one to love."

I nearly tripped over my own feet in spite of my caution. "Are you trying to get me to be girly?" I sputtered. "Sorry, but that's not me! I know what's coming! I can't just- just relax! What if they come early? Or I'm not strong enough? What if they win because I didn't train hard enough?"

Her fan fluttered. "You are as feminine as you need to be, daoshi. But did you listen to a word you just said? You think you are the only one responsible for the fate of the world and you aren't. You aren't good enough to be."

My hand froze, no longer rippling the fan. _I'm not good enough. My soul doesn't think I'm good enough. Who would want me?_ I stared at Arashi, whose dark eyes showed no sign of mischief.

 _Focus._ Focus _, you good-for-nothing piece of shit. This is a problem. Solve it. She wants you to deflect? Deflect._

"And?" I said, forcing loftiness into my voice. "I'm here to grow stronger. That's what's important."

Her fan snapped shut. "Stupid, stupid girl," she said softly. "I tell you you can't be the only one to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and you ask how to manage the burden. Daoshi, you cannot. This is a society that has lain in its filth for millennia and you want to scour it clean with only your hands. Do that and you will be forced to take measures that leave your hands covered in the same filth."

"It doesn't matter!" I yelled, voice pitching high and whiny like the little girl she seemed to think I was. "I don't matter the way they do! This- this place is rotten," I said my voice cracking as it quieted. "If I have to ruin myself so everybody else can live better, that's what has to happen. 'It can't be helped,'" I quoted the often-heard saying. "People are composed of many individuals. If one of them chooses to be hurt so the rest can be happy... isn't that good? Isn't that right?"

"No," Arashi said, expression cool, tone blunt. "You may make your choice to do right, but that doesn't make it the right choice. Perhaps you're right, daoshi. Perhaps you and I don't matter. Perhaps we are a tool to accomplish an honorable end. But we can be used another way. When I said that you would dirty your hands if you tried to clean this place alone, I did not mean that you must not kill, or strike preemptively, or follow the system to reach a place where you can change things. They are necessary. But so are you."

Arashi came to a halt. I stopped too, warily. Was this where we fought for her power?

No. All at once the fan vanished from my hand and reappeared in hers. Arashi snapped both tessen open, silver beads blossoming on the silk, and with a flick of her wrists, fog filled the room.

When the fog cleared, I stood in the Zen garden from before, Arashi nowhere in sight. Fluttering came from behind me and I turned to see her once again. Arashi reached up, removing her sakkat, sleeves dissolving into mist and skirt flowing into something more like a loincloth.

Long, iridescent black feathers now shimmered along winglike arms, hands tipped with talons, only slightly shorter on crane-like legs. Not geta, I realized. Claws. Even the shadow of hair I'd seen beneath the sakkat was a mane of coal-black feathers.

 _Harpy_ , whispered a girl steeped in myths of toga-clad gods and proud, princely heroes. _Fearsome._

 _Tennyo,_ corrected the part of me that had soaked up tales of faceless women and dragons of water instead of fire. _Beautiful._

And that was what vaguely unnerved me, not her appearance: the fact that feathers and talons were so much more natural than skin and nails. I'd been walking on a battlefield without armor and weapons before. Something within me settled. Before the seals Arashi had filled me to the bursting point, barrier between Zanpakutou and Shinigami tenuous at best. Afterwards it'd felt as though she'd found a gap I hadn't known existed and filled it, but parts still grated. I breathed in cool, fresh air and exhaled contentedly. Now she fit exactly as she should.

"We're a chimera," Arashi said, done with letting me gape. "Not of this world, but a part of it nonetheless. To be true, we have to deceive. We manipulate others to keep them free. We fight for peace, do evil for good, hurt to heal." Her feathers rippled, rainbows shimmering across their darkness. "You know that. And yet," she said, crossing the distance between us in a few long strides, "you fail to grasp the two essential points." Arashi held up a curved talon. "The first is that our knowledge of weakness gives us strength. You have been weak, human, powerless. You are still a raindrop compared to the oceans of the captains. And so we can become strong, because we know what we need to be. Our rain warns them of the storm, and if they don't listen? We change them in a way they can't understand." She held up another claw. "The second is that we aren't alone. The sun evaporates the sea, the pearl steals its grit, the spear pollutes it with its children's blood, the seaweed chokes its flow. We have allies. You know this, have planned for this—don't try to get out of it."

I sagged, all the strength taken out of me by her words. "But there's so much to do," I whispered. "And they don't know."

She tilted my chin up with a single claw that was exactly as sharp as it looked—which was to say, extraordinarily. "They managed without you the first time, daoshi," Arashi scolded. "You will improve this world, but it does not hinge on you. They need you, yes, but it will go on without you, as it has for centuries."

I half-sobbed, half-laughed. "That shouldn't be as comforting as it is."

She smiled thinly. "To anyone else it wouldn't be. To you, silly girl, it is. Now, we take a step towards that peace."

Two fans condensed from a tendril of mist in front of me. I knelt at her pointed look and picked them up, flicking each open to match her.

"First things first, daoshi," Arashi said, all at once brisk as Himura. "We will work harder than Himura will ever push you."

That was all the warning I got before she lunged, front fan snapping closed as she brought it down in a classic overhead strike. I dodged purely on instinct, leaning back and letting my feet catch up just fast enough to leap away from her follow-up slash with the back fan.

 _Narrow, closed, high, front-weighted stance_ , I noted frantically, landing on top of the middle rock. _Unexposed, unstable, fast, aggressive._ Best bet? Run. Strategically. My eyes flicked back to Arashi, only to find nothing there. Dammit.

She reappeared above me, leading again with a closed-fan strike. I caught the whisper of gold across her open fan a split second before the stench of ozone hit me. I slammed my wrists into hers in an X block. Basic weapons training. My mind stalled for a second as I realized that with my hands occupied I couldn't follow through with the rest of the technique.

Arashi took that opening, twisting and slashing her open fan across my kosode. I shrieked, more in surprise than pain, as its razor edge tore through to my sarashi. I snapped my front fan open and swung at her—the motion was similar enough to an eclipse hand strike that I got good power out of it. I missed, naturally, failing to account for the fact that bird legs meant she didn't stand and move like me.

But Arashi didn't account for the fact that my eyes were naturally drawn to her legs, making her attempted kick telegraphed as hell. I jumped off the rock before she could connect, landing on the gravel with a faint thrill of relief. Arashi followed me, shaking her fans open, The gold pattern had disappeared, as had the buzz of electricity. Good. I couldn't help noticing the awkward way she landed, claws not quite gripping the pebbles. Inspiration hit me like a bolt of lightning, observations slotting into place into my earlier half-assed plan.

This time when she flew at me, fans a maelstrom of blue silk and silver edges, I moved. It was easier now, clad in the armor of a good if not great plan and getting the hang of my tessen, to shut my fans and use them like tantou. I'd never dual-wielded tantou, but the length and weight was similar enough that I could pretend.

"Fight, daoshi!" Arashi shouted, apparently not at all exhausted by her onslaught. I ground my teeth to keep from letting her knock the tessen out of my hands. "You get from me the power you deserve! Lose and you get nothing!"

Fire flared in my chest, tearing out of me as a screech as I snapped my fans open and whirled the same way I had for a thousand spinning kicks. The first fan failed, blocked by a casual chicken-wrist block, but the second got through. The fabric was too dark to see clearly, but the telltale sound of tearing silk declared my success.

"Second blood," I panted, fighting the urge to stop and laugh at her expression, eyes wide and lips forming a delicate O of surprise. She looked like one of the old paintings Shinji and I loved to mock.

The wind went out of me as she slammed a closed fan into my side like a club. Wheezing, I staggered back, flicking my fans shut as Arashi resumed her assault with the fury of her namesake. The world narrowed to a tunnel, her fans the only things I could see at its end. I would've liked to be in the box in my head that i went to during kata performances in class, but instead I was in the driver's seat completely. Blockblockstepblockblockblockstepstep in rapid sequence.

Straw sandals slid on wet gravel and I was scrambling upright, dripping wet. Something cold and scaly slipped past my ankle. Koi? I hoped so. The shock of the water had made the tunnels retreat, at any rate.

Arashi clicked over the gravel, feather-hair flattened in... disappointment? Anger? I couldn't tell. "Lightning doesn't wait. It strikes," she said, mincing towards me. "Water, too, takes any opportunity to advance. If you do neither, you fail. Another day, daoshi." Gold shimmered across her open fan. Arashi stepped forwards and swung down-

Now! I lunged forwards, wrapping my hands in her collar, and heaved. Arashi flailed for a second, just long enough for me to hurl myself out of the pond.

Belly-down on the gravel, I didn't directly see what happened when electrified fans met water. The deafening crack from behind me, as well as the white blaze of light that painted my shadow briefly on the stone, told me enough, though. I lay there for a moment longer before struggling to my feet, ribs aching. I turned, both curious to see what had happened to Arashi and dreading the sight.

The truth wasn't as spectacularly horrible as I'd expected. Arashi was climbing to her feet, clothes and body repairing themselves rapidly as I watched. Even her tessen, scorched to metal ribs and tattered silk—which reeked—mended before my eyes.

"My ears are ringing!" I said before she could rip me a new one. "Can't hear you!"

Arashi shrugged, an interesting movement given the way the light played off her feathers. She flicked her fans shut and brought them together, ribs elongating and silk rippling until I was looking at her sealed form again. As soon as she sheathed it, the ringing disappeared and my tessen evaporated.

"No excuse now," Arashi said, as fake-pleasant as I liked to be with Momohiko. "Well done, daoshi."

I blinked. I couldn't have heard her right. No one got electrocuted and congratulated the person who'd done it. "Uh, what?"

"You heard me," Arashi said, lifting black brows. "Your plan to deceive your enemies will come along well if that performance was any indication. I was convinced that you were too scared to fight with an unfamiliar weapon."

I sighed in relief, smiling. "Well, I didn't use them- you-" I stopped, looking at her helplessly.

"'Them' will work fine for our purposes," Arashi provided. "Continue."

"I didn't use them all that much," I said. "But once I got used to them, the motion's a little like an eclipse hand strike, and they have a weight like tantou." I grinned. "Keeping that in mind, it was easier for me to use another weapon: the environment. Er, are the koi okay?"

Arashi's lips twitched, though she was too dignified to smile at that. "They belong to your soul, daoshi. They can withstand a little electrocution. How did you plan that?"

"I bought time at first, obviously. My first plan was to run until I had a better plan," I explained. "Then I saw how you walked—no offense—and realized that I had a better footing. I'd noticed the pond before, so it was easy to figure out that water would make the gravel even more slippery. And water and lightning don't mix well. All I had to do was get you near it." I shrugged. "Besides, I figured water would weigh down feathers."

"They're waterproof," Arashi informed me. She lifted a hand and water streamed out of the pond, wrapping around her. Instead of soaking her, it darkened into fabric, reforming her sleeves and skirt, and paled and solidified into her sakkat. The water dripping down from its straw surface shimmered into silver fabric again. "Other than that, you think better on your feet than I thought. We'll have to work on your technique, of course, but you did well for your first time. For your first time," she repeated, giving me a pointed look like she expected me to declare myself master of my Zanpakutou right then and there.

"I understand," I said, smile fading. Time to be serious. I folded my hands in front of me. "Thanks for the lesson," I said, inclining my head. It never hurt to be respectful to one's teachers.

Arashi returned my slight bow. "Do you understand? We are water, aggression and change. We seem to move through life by others' grace, when in reality everything would fall apart without us. Destruction and life in the same being. And when we must, we are constant. But we are also lightning, potential waiting, then realized. Brilliant, unmistakable, more powerful when put to use than uncontrolled." She paused to straighten her chuufurisode. "We love strangely, freely, warmly, like a summer storm. But as you saw today, one wrong move and we can destroy ourselves and those close to us. Freedom and caution together."

I smiled slightly, hiding the worry that welled up in me. I didn't like to think of myself as self-destructive, but... I'd resolved to befriend Aizen. I'd decided to take Hiyori's place, knowing what would happen to me. Heck, being a Shinigami could be considered self-destructive. "A chimera," I said. "I didn't realize I was so complicated."

"Everyone's complicated," she replied. "I simply have the privilege of picking you apart."

I laughed, a loud sound that clashed deeply with my mountain temple world. Her words weren't particularly funny, but it felt good to laugh like a real person, not the way I did to be polite or express ladylike amusement. I tilted my head back, body shaking as I laughed until my sides hurt. As my laughter began to fade, I noticed a quiet giggling coming from a certain Zanpakutou's direction.

Arashi sat there with a long sleeve covering her mouth, dark eyes crinkled. I had to confess that her laugh annoyed me, not because it was ugly but because it sounded exactly like I would expect a female Momohiko to laugh, proper and restrained. Still, laughing meant our encounter had gone well, so I suppressed my irritation.

"Are you laughing at me?" I asked, faux-annoyed. "I thought you were supposed to be above that, Miss 'Heavenly Maiden.'"

Arashi shook her head, though her amused expression stayed. "Not at you. At the way you laugh. The average person doesn't have a seizure every time they laugh, you know."

I made a face at her. "I'm aware." I hesitated, not wanting to seem greedy, but the whole point of my coming here was to get a technique from her. "Um, Himura said I was supposed to learn a technique...?"

She nodded, seriousness returning. "Yes, that's true. Its name is Justo Rayo."

Short, sweet, and since as far as I knew no one here spoke Spanish, nonindicative of its effects. Perfect. "Justo Rayo," I repeated. "Thanks." I glanced up at the sky, deep blue with wispy clouds drifting across the surface. "Not to be rude, but how do I leave? Dinner is soon, I think."

"All you have to do is want to leave, daoshi," Arashi said, walking past me towards the temple. "Return soon."

"I will!" I called over my shoulder.

It was only as I was leaving that I realized that we'd both spoken English.

* * *

Lisa was the one to get me registered, her aunt having been called to deal with some troublemakers by the other end of the building.

"You didn't blow yourself up," she said, tone so flat I couldn't tell if she was joking, "so there's that going for you. Name?"

"Mine or hers?" As always, my fingers couldn't help brushing Arashi's hilt.

"Yours first, hers after. Not like it's hard to tell the difference." Lisa glanced at the paper. "Fuck. Full name. How much space'll I need?"

I sighed. Names were a tricky thing in Soul Society—best exemplified in noble names, which tended to be incredibly long and archaic. Mine included. "Plenty. Sorry."

She brushed an unruly strand of hair out of her eyes, bending over the paper. "Alright. Start talking."

I drummed my fingers on my thigh, thinking for a second—it'd been a while since I'd had to recite my full name. "The Children of the Flatlands's Daughter of the Lords of the Just Pines's first daughter, the Lady Nariko," I said wearily, immensely thankful for the fact that my parents hadn't made me go to many formal events, where I would've had to introduce myself that way every time.

Lisa nodded briskly when she'd finished. "Those the right kanji?" She turned the paper to me. I squinted at it.

"Yeah. Um, I think you forgot the furigana." I pointed at the space above the characters where kana should've been. Roughly. My eyes were refusing to focus again.

Lisa glanced at it and sighed the distinctive sigh of a person utterly done with the world around them. "Fuck. Better give me those." I did, following up with Arashi's name as soon as I'd finished. Bureaucracy, I could already tell, was going to be my least favorite part of the job.

"Category?" Lisa asked, eyes flicking to my face without any hint of interest. "That means-"

"I know," I interrupted. Her apathy was starting to piss me off. Maybe I should've been concerned, Lisa being necessary and all, about her lack of affect. Too bad. "Elemental-type Kidou. Water and lightning."

Her hand paused by the appropriate box. "Fuck, delinquent girl. Any category you aren't exceptional in?"

"Yeah, every other one," I told her. "Are we done?" A pulse of dull pain through my head underscored the question.

Her brush flashed across the paper. "Yeah. Go beat someone else up."

I was halfway out the door after 'yeah,' but I paused for a second. "I don't beat people up."

Finally Lisa met my eyes. "Yeah, you do. Better than your brother, from what I've heard. You Hirako break people with your minds."

She rose and left before I could say anything else, but I couldn't help wondering exactly how much I would have to revise my plans.

After all, everyone else seemed to know more about me than I did.


	9. Under Winter Skies

_Arc: Turn of the Wheel_

 _Arc Flower: Orange Blossoms_

* * *

I would've liked to say that I passed my classes with flying colors, saved Soul Society from itself, and wiped out the Quincy in the rest of the trimester, just to continue my success. But that would've been lying. Instead, it went by pretty much like any school trimester, with the barely-passed exams, forgotten homework, and late nights I'd thought were behind me. Not that everything was bad—I did well on most of my finals and learning tessenjutsu proved easier than I'd expected. Not easy, given my spirit, but easier, possibly because the knowledge was literally embedded in my soul. Which led to my continual problems with Zanjutsu, my teacher assuming that Shikai meant I was more skilled than I was letting on and pitting me against the star of the class—who was Momohiko, naturally. Dude definitely got kendo training pre-Shin'ou.

My relationships with Shinju and Minoru neither improved nor deteriorated. Shinju just about tiptoed around me for a month before she seemed to settle into being the roommate of a killer. I could've said something, but that would've meant awkwardness and probably crying and I could never find the right time. We talked about everything else instead, but that knowledge always lingered in the air. Minoru withdrew back into his shy persona, thwarting most of my attempts to draw him out again, but he kept progressing in our Japanese lessons, which was rewarding enough.

Aizen and I continued to talk Zanpakutou when we got the chance, though we moved towards the ramifications instead of mechanics. For now, we were both content to not pry into how Zanpakutou worked. I, at least, no longer wanted to know what let Oshiro exist. The meaning behind Zanpakutou was a lighter topic, anyway. What traits were universally associated with certain kinds of Zanpakutou and such.

When fall break came, we weren't allowed to go home. Instead, Shinji and I went to our mother's clan estate—tradition dictated that children returned to the clan they didn't normally live with after attending their first trimester at Shin'ou. Maybe it was about recognizing the other side of the family's influence on prospective Shinigami, or maybe it was to allow us to spend the more important winter break with the family we were more familiar with. Rukongai kids generally stayed at Shin'ou, though they were allowed to wander around Seireitei, so Minoru, Aizen, and Nanase—who I still hadn't puzzled out, dammit—were left at school.

The winter trimester, too, was uneventful. I got over Akane, thankfully for my attention span. Introduction to Kidou turned out to be simultaneously more boring and more interesting than I'd thought—more interesting because have you heard the incantations? and more boring because they went over theory for way longer than I needed before we learned our first spell and spent a few days shoving people across a field with a first-level Hadou. I was briefly interested by the fact that Kidou numbers described the reiryoku requirement of the spell rather than numbering how many there were, but the teacher started droning on about the history of Kidou categorization and I dozed off again. Other than that, Minoru's birthday was the only interesting event—I discovered to my dismay that we weren't allowed to leave even for important events like that and had to promise to get him something during winter break. I didn't think he believed me. But Shinji solved that problem very handily.

"Hey, Fugai, Aizen, Nanase, ya doin' anything fer break?" he asked some time during our last week, like he didn't know they weren't. "Some of our relatives are bound to not be able to make it..." he trailed off.

Minoru, shivering under a frost-covered tree, shook his head. "J-just the usual. Studyin' and s-sleepin'."

Aizen blinked, removing his spectacles and wiping condensation from them. I was struck for a second by how eerie his eyes looked without being hidden by the smoky lenses, wide and darting. "Nothing much. Why?"

I glanced over at Nanase, who'd frozen like I'd just stabbed his mother. "Yeah, why?" he said weakly.

"Why d'ya think, dumbass?" Shinji said, beaming. I watched Nanase's face, hoping he'd mirror the expression. Serious expressions looked wrong on Nanase. "New Year's is way more fun with loads of people! 'Sides, we could always use a few more warm bodies."

I matched his smile. "Yeah! I don't know if you have obligations, Fujikage-chan, but we'd love to have you."

"Do we get our own bedrooms?" Nanase asked, warm smile reappearing. Good.

I considered. "Yeah, I think so. We have a lot of relatives, so there are a lot of guest houses."

Shinju tilted her head, playing with the tip of the braid she'd put her hair in today. "I can probably stay for a few days, but my family will want me for New Year's proper," she said.

Shinji nodded happily, rubbing his face to bring some color back to it. "Hey, whatever works. Any idea what you'd want for a present?"

Shit. I'd almost forgotten about those, except for Minoru. "I know what I'm getting Minoru-kun," I sing-songed. I'd been slowly putting my silly facade into place over the past few months. Arashi, as usual, hummed with satisfaction when I did that. She seemed big on keeping promises. Weird, since I wasn't.

 _It's about truth, daoshi_ , she insisted. _Either you told me the truth when you said you'd do that and I give you my power, or you lied and I won't give you any of it._ Which made sense, I guess. I pulled myself back to the conversation.

Shinju was musing over what to get us, it seemed. "A yukata for Shinji-kun," she murmured, half to us and half to herself, "and a calligraphy wall hanging for Nariko-chan?"

Shinji poked out his tongue at her. "Aww, it's no fun if ya spoil it for us, Shinju-chan! But I'd totally take anything you gave me," he added.

Enough of that. "There's no obligation to get anyone anything," I explained to Minoru, who'd begun to look stricken. "Tradition is to give everyone small bags of mochi and Mandarin oranges, but we don't have any oranges and everyone makes mochi together. Gifts are just for the people you're closest to. And all the kids get money!"

Shinji's face took on a ridiculously smug smirk. "Which means ya don't get anythin' from the family this year," he said, twirling a lock of hair that had yet to be winter-faded around his finger.

Wait, what? "But I haven't graduated yet!" I protested. "I'm not an adult!" I wasn't even a full two decades, let alone past my first century. I couldn't be an adult.

Shinju steepled her fingers in front of her. "Well, I don't know how it works in your clan, but in mine people are adults when they achieve Shikai, or when they take on their first official responsibility. Whichever comes first, you know?"

Shinji's smirk widened. "Same fer us. They might cut ya a break 'cause you're still young, so ya won't have to give out money just yet, but ya totally ain't a kid anymore."

My exaggerated pout was... less of a facade than it should've been for someone my age. I liked money. Not just the clink of kan against kan, but also the security it symbolized. Money meant the basics of life, even if I didn't have to pay for those yet. Better to be safe than sorry.

I let the conversation drift away from that topic, content just to watch and shiver. _Note to self: invent either warmer clothing or better heating_. Some brilliant bureaucrat had decided that Shin'ou didn't need kotatsu, which meant a couple months of freezing. Nanase was shivering a lot more than someone who was simply cold, though. I kept my face neutral as I watched him from the corner of my eye.

 _Analysis?_ Arashi prompted. I felt-saw her clicking through the rooms of my inner world's temple, pacing the way I did when I had a particularly annoying problem to solve.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. My Zanpakutou spirit seemed kinda pretentious. Maybe a little bit of soul-searching was in order. Still, I indulged her. _He could be sensitive to temperature_ , I thought stubbornly. _Lots of people are. Or maybe he's uncomfortable with coming for New Year's. But I can't tell exactly why just from the way he shivers._

Irritation rolled out from the blade at my waist. _And you can't tell by observing the rest of his behavior?_

 _No,_ I argued, _'cause I'm not Sherlock. We already know that he wants to be a part of something. It's possible that he just doesn't want to be put in the middle of a bunch of strangers._

She huffed, presence retreating. _Perhaps later, daoshi. You fail to use all your senses._

My senses? I cast a glance at Nanase's waist, easily visible as he sat with his legs to the side the same way I did. If Arashi meant my spiritual senses, Nanase didn't have Shikai. Which didn't necessarily mean he didn't have a spirit, just that it hadn't told him its name yet. Hmm. Maybe I could do that. Or maybe not, given the shadows I kept seeing out of the corner of my eye, which could've been either onmitsu-track kids practicing stealth or the real thing. Bad news either way.

Oh well. If Arashi wanted to be fickle, I had only myself to blame for that.

* * *

Feathery white spun around us, not thick and wet enough to really be snow, as we tromped down the winding path towards the Hirako estate. Flurry, that was the word.

In the end, everyone invited had come with us for New Year's. Shinju had sent for permission to come with us and received it just yesterday. By all rights she should've been carrying less than she was, but Nanase, who walked at the center of our group, was cradling a Kidou fireball. In the interests of preserving the faint warmth it gave off, we'd agreed that Shinju could take his belongings since he didn't have much. Nanase ended up taking his bag back when we reached roadside inns anyway.

Apart from the cold—which one got used to pretty quickly—the trip hadn't been that bad. The aforementioned roadside inns were happy for the business, so they treated us well. And since we weren't moving fast enough to need our reiryoku for that, we could walk for longer times than humans. It was nearing noon on our fourth day and I felt as tired as if I'd just gone for a decent-length hike. Granted, I felt pretty icky too, hair knotted into frozen clumps by the snow and wind and clothes vaguely grimy the way they tended to be after a long period of doing anything, but physically I could've gone on like that for a while.

"So, Nariko-san, any family members I should be warned about?" Aizen asked, crunching over a patch of last night's ice.

I considered. "Not particularly. I bet you've heard rumors, but we aren't as bad as the last leader." I made a face. "Even the Hirako were smart enough to know that Uncle Haru was bad news for our future."

Aizen busied himself with cleaning his glasses. "So he was," he agreed in the toneless way of someone who didn't want to give his own opinion. Oops. Maybe I should've said something a little less embarrassing, in case he mentioned it in front of my parents later. Or, more likely, if Nanase heard it and mentioned it later. He'd been chattering practically nonstop the whole way. I'd only gotten a break from him when we'd stopped at a market to get gifts for each other and at hot springs when he elected to stay in his room. No one knew exactly how he stayed clean. Snowmelt and a bar of soap?

Of course, I wasn't much better when it came to talking. Nervousness about going home combined with Arashi's nagging had gotten me talking a lot more than I usually did about nothing at all.

"Oi! Glasses, Narin, keep up!" Shinji hollered back. I blinked, noticing that we were several paces behind the group. "Stop making kissy faces at each other an' walk!"

Aizen turned as white as the snow clinging to his hair. For my part, I screeched wordlessly at him, dashing past Shinju to jab him in the back.

"You idiot!" I shouted when I pluck the words from a mind that couldn't decide whether to shut down out of embarrassment or anger. "Don't- don't embarrass Aizen-san like that!"

Shinji snorted. "I'm pretty sure that it's s'posed to be the guy stickin' up for the girl, ya backwards bookworm. Oi, Aizen! Get up here with th' rest of us, dumbass!"

Aizen obliged, trotting up besides me. "Someday, Shinji-san," he said in the measuredly conversational way of someone trying to avoid reacting violently, "I'm going to teach you how to see things from others' perspectives. Such as perhaps not implying nonexistent relationships?"

My violent twitch had nothing to do with his second sentence. I hoped they all knew that.

 _Right,_ I thought as we continued, the sloped roofs of the first Hirako building appearing as we crested the last rise before the flatlands that lent us our name. _This won't last forever. But how can I do anything when everything's so slow?_

Shinju made a noise of appreciation. "It's so colorful, even in winter," she murmured. Shinju didn't have to point to show what she was talking about. The brilliant yellow and pink paint across the roofs of the guardhouses drew everyone's eye. It wasn't as bad as it sounded, really. The particular shade of pink used for the roofs was redder than our clan colors generally used and the gold, though not actually gold, came close enough to be tasteful. New Year's colors for fortune. Just seeing them made my heart warm.

Minoru, for his part, squeaked with surprise. "How long does it take to slather all that on?" he asked, blinking like he hoped they would go away.

"Way too long, an' these brats should've been around for it," a deep drawl said. Its owner emerged from one of the guardhouses by the east gate, shit-eating-grin firmly in place. Someday I'd have to find out if our family trees intersected at all.

"It's not my fault!" I protested as Shinji made a rude gesture at the man, retorting, "Ya want a fuckin' captain outta this fuckin' house or what?"

Kawaguchi Sousuke laughed, taking it in the spirit it was meant—or maybe he had plenty of spirits inside him by now. You never knew with the holidays so close, and the man definitely had a prominent gut anyway. As I'd found out as a child intent on trying out my new Shifting Moon tricks on someone, that didn't detract from his strength at all. "I swear, ain't no point in callin' ya 'young master.' Ya got a mouth on you as dirty as my great-grandda's."

"Mine too," a similarly bass voice rumbled as another guard stepped out of his guardhouse. He looked our group up and down from beneath thick eyebrows. Despite his bushy beard, a few ice crystals already collecting on it, Sousuke's twin Ryuunosuke had no hair on the top of his head. "Though I guess that ain't a coincidence. yeah?"

Oh, he was definitely drunker than a seventh-year after finals. "Good afternoon, Sousuke-san, Ryuunosuke-san," I said before they could embarrass themselves. "These are my friends, Fujikage Shinju-chan, Aizen Sousuke-san, Fugai Minoru-kun, and Nanase Hibiki-kun. They're staying with us for New Year's. I think my parents would've told you to expect us?"

"Ah, that's right," Ryuunosuke said, flushed cheeks rounding as he grinned. "If it's alright with y'all, m' idiot brother an' I'll get yer bags."

"I wouldn't want ta be a problem-" Minoru blurted, protests cut off as Sousuke stepped in and wrested his belongings away.

"Wish everybody had yer mindset, kid!" Ryuunosuke grunted as he took Aizen's stuff. "Make my job a hell of a lot easier. But nah, this is what we get paid for. Don't tear yer hair out over it."

"Not my stuff!" Nanase shrilled, reiatsu bristling. We startled as one, hands dropping to our weapons.

I glanced over to see Sousuke stopped with his hands outstretched for Nanase's belongings, confused expression on his leathery face.

"What's happenin'?" Shinji asked, all at once as much an adult as the guards, blond brows drawn together in a sharp frown.

"I-I just wanted ta take h-his stuff for 'im," Sousuke stammered, falling all over himself as he struggled for an explanation. "If 'e wants ta hang onta them, that's no skin off my nose!" He stepped back, raising his hands in surrender.

Shinji relaxed, smile playing over his lips again. "See, Nanase, it ain't no problem. Ya wanna take yer stuff, ya can, but it's fer convenience."

Nanase set his jaw, reiatsu subsiding. "Yeah, okay. Guess I haven't grown outta Takahashi after all, huh?" He forced a laugh, but the intrusion of his natural accent gave him away.

"Every group's got to have someone who's high-strung," I teased as we were led past the gate. "Guess you're ours, Nanase-kun!" I bumped him with my shoulder, prompting a slightly more normal chuckle.

"Guess so."

* * *

You know those family gatherings with all the relatives pinching your cheeks and talking about things you have no interest in but have to listen to anyway to be polite? Yeah, try that with a whole clan of people who've earned a reputation for being talkative and sociable a thousand times over. And half of them were drunk, the ones who weren't either children or slightly senile relatives whose wrinkles could give Yamamoto's a run for their money. The dogs underfoot everywhere didn't help.

We arrived right in the middle of that chaos, nearly getting run over by a servant running past as he yelled something about preparing enough food in time.

Shinji, for his part, started laughing his head off and threw his arms out wide.

"Welcome ta our home!" he shouted over the din, wrapping one arm around my shoulder and the other around Shinju's. "Let's get ya introduced ta our parents and find ya somewhere ta sleep!"

He led the way through the crowd of overwhelmingly blond people, tugging Shinju along. I barely managed to grab her hand and seize Nanase's before we were swallowed up by the sweaty masses. And let me tell you, sweaty was accurate—not everyone could hold their sake as well as our father and some faces were very flushed.

We found Kenji in his study, as usual, though it was a lot more crowded than usual with all the people who needed to ask him about this detail or that. Equally unsurprising was the amount of papers strewn everywhere. Some retainer was fluttering from person to person, addressing their problems if he could so Kenji had less to deal with. My heart warmed just seeing them. Order out of chaos—we couldn't manage it when it came to paperwork, but the Hirako could handle people.

"Perhaps we should wait until later," Aizen ventured, echoed by Minoru and Nanase's emphatic nods. It was amazing how they could synchronize so well when they were nervous. I was inclined to agree until Shinji shoved his way to the front of the line.

"Oi, old man!" he shouted just as Kenji turned around from grabbing a scroll. "I got introductions ta make!"

Beside me, Shinju's jaw dropped. "Is he usually that forward?" she whispered.

"Have you met Shinji?" I retorted, following him over to Kenji and motioning for the others to come with me. I dipped my head to at least pretend like civility was a thing around here. "Happy New Year's!"

Kenji, just like his son, cared absolutely nothing about what was in his way. He practically knocked over his desk to wrap us both in a hug.

"M'little stars are back ta followin' the moon again!" Kenji exclaimed. Oh yeah, he'd definitely joined the drinking. My dad only got poetic with sake in him. He held us until my lungs started to burn, releasing us with a shout of "Introductions!"

Shinju bowed from the waist, knocking a paper half-hanging off the desk to the floor when her head brushed it. She stooped again to put it back into place, blushing brilliant pink. "S-sorry! I'm Fujikage Shinju, sir."

Kenji laughed. "Good catch, Shinji!" His forehead wrinkled. "Though we can't be havin' a Shinju an' a Shinji. Junko, that's it," he proclaimed, making a sweeping gesture towards Shinju, who to her credit just blinked and blushed darker pink. "I'm callin' ya Junko now, darlin'. Who's next?"

Minoru bowed even more deeply. "I-I-I'm called Fugai Minoru, Lord Hirako, sir," he stammered. "Honor t-ta meet ya."

Kenji grinned. "Where're ya from, boy?" he asked, raking a hand through already-unkempt blond hair. "Can't be near here, or ya'd know that hardly anybody calls the likes of me 'Lord.'"

Minoru flushed red, mouth working as he tried to come up with an apology.

"It ain't a faux pas, boy," Kenji assured him. "Yer district?"

"I-I'm from West 67th, Fugai," he said between short, sharp breaths. "S-so-"

"I said don't worry about it!" Kenji scolded, shaking his head. "Honestly, kids these days get so flustered over the littlest things. Next?"

Nanase stepped forward, bowing deeply enough to put even Minoru to shame. "I'm Nanase Hibiki, sir," he mumbled. "I hope you'll treat me well."

Kenji positively beamed. Oh dear. I was going to have to pry him off of Nanase. Kenji prided himself on his sense for people—to be fair, with his career he did have a good idea of who was good people or not—and, being a Hirako through and through, treated people he deemed likable as though he'd known them for ages. Not everybody liked that. "Course we will! 's New Year's! Ya need anythin' at all, come an' find me and we'll settle it." He sent a glance at the fidgeting adults behind us. "Ah, looks like I better not keep everybody waitin'. 'fraid I'll have ta shoo y'all out fer now, but- hey, kid, what're ya doin' hidin' back there?"

Ah, so that's who I'd been forgetting. I glanced over my shoulder to see Aizen shuffle out from behind Shinju.

"Sorry, sir," he muttered, adjusting his glasses. Behind the dark lenses, his eyes skittered off to the side. "I'm used to concealing myself, I suppose. I'm Aizen Sousuke."

Kenji blinked. "So you're the one with the right odd name, huh? How was it in that letter... 'indigo dye?' Like ya don't even exist, kid!" He laughed for just a few seconds longer than was comfortable, then shook his head. "Who the hell are ya?"

Aizen shifted from foot to foot. "Your guest, sir. If that's all...?"

"Sorry, I think he's a little drunk," I muttered to my friends before raising my voice again. "We're going to get my friends some rooms, okay? B-"

His brow creased. "Ah, wait! Yer mother wanted ta see ya as soon as ya got here—just Nariko, don't ya fret. Somethin' about a cousin whose name I didn't catch. She was makin' introductions fer her around the pavilion next to that old plum tree."

I pursed my lips. _Ugh, she wants me to be friendly to some cousin I've never met? Probably going to be some socialite who wants me to show her around everywhere and hang out with my friends_ , I complained. _And it's going to be so awkward. What is wrong with that woman?_

Still, after I'd grumbled sufficiently to everyone when we'd made our escape from the study, I trudged off to the designated pavilion. Stupid parents.

Though it wasn't like I minded too much, it took longer to get there than I'd expected. When I finally shoved my way out of the stream of people, I was faced with a group of yukata-clad women, none of whose faces were made up with anything resembling properly ladylike makeup. Arashi's sniff was almost audible.

 _Gotta love 'em,_ I thought to her as I lingered at the edge of the pavilion, trailing my gaze over the delicate buds that crowned the tree sprawling over the nearby pond and the pavilion itself. A shame I wouldn't be here to watch it bloom. _At least I'm not expected to be good at putting it on. Or shave my eyebrows._

 _Stop avoiding your responsibility, daoshi,_ Arashi scolded. _Go say hi._

As it turned out, I was allowed to avoid seeking out that responsibility, if only by having it thrust on me when my mother stepped out of a circle of women with the most brilliant smile I'd ever seen on her face. My stomach sank.

"Nariko! Ya certainly took yer time gettin' here, didn't ya?" She grabbed my arm and dragged me over, ignoring my whimper of pain. The thick sleeves of the winter uniform were no match for lacquered nails. "Meet yer cousin from the branch house! Ain't she just the cutest thing?" We came to a halt in front of the aforementioned cousin and-

 _Oh, you have got to be kidding me. I'm related to her?!_ "Sorry in advance," I blurted out.

Sarugaki Hiyori glared at me as though apologies were grounds for murder in her book. "What've ya got ta be sorry for?" she demanded, tiny fists clenched at her sides. "Ya get those bores at Shin'ou ta fail me 'fore I even get shipped there or somethin'?"

 _There's got to be a mistake,_ I thought, staring at her. _She's adopted. Or a foster-daughter. Or an impostor. Nope. Not Hiyori. No way. Hiyori isn't so-_ My brain ran out of words, because there were a lot of things that my Hiyori was that this one wasn't. Visored, for one, and cartoonishly violent, for another. This not-Hiyori hadn't kicked me for pissing her off. Her hair wasn't even in her characteristic pigtails, for heaven's sake! What was this little comb doing there? Who'd gotten her to sit still long enough to pull her hair back in the first place? And where was her characteristic fang?

Makoto reached over and pushed up my chin with the back of her hand. "Don't start catchin' flies, Nariko," she said. "Ain't ya happy ta meet her? She'll be joinin' you two at Shin'ou for the spring trimester! Special circumstances, y'know," she added in a faux-conspiratorial whisper. "Well? Say somethin'!"

"Um, I didn't catch your name," I said intelligently, eyes still fixed on her face. Brown eyes shot daggers back at me.

Hiyori snorted, folding her arms across her chest. "Figures! Too good ta talk Osaka-ben an' too good ta ask anybody else's name!"

 _I just did!_ I wanted to scream, biting back the cutting words I was sorely tempted to fling at her. "Sorry," I said instead.

She snorted again. "Apologizin' all the time! What kinda princess are ya? I'm Sarugaki Hiyori. Bet I'd make a better heir than some shrinkin' violet!" She grinned, as though daring me to prove it.

Two could play at the intimidation game. "I'm not the heir, actually," I corrected her, folding my own arms. This close I could distinguish her reiatsu, hard, patterned, and faintly vulnerable like armor, from the masses around me. I filed that away as something to work on. She was easily on my level, at least. Probably would put up a good fight for the Twelfth's lieutenancy. "That's Shinji. But," I said, smiling my most saccharine smile as I tugged aside my traveling cloak to show off Arashi, "I am a legal adult. You seem like a smart kid. I'm sure you know what that means." I raised my reiatsu slightly, feeling it buzz more than flow. If Hiyori had a brain in her head she'd know I wasn't happy with her, whatever the rest of me said.

A scowl replaced her smile. True to the Hiyori I remembered—maybe this was the real thing—she was stubborn enough to refuse to admit defeat. "Am I supposed ta be impressed that you're some kinda prodigy?" she demanded. I ignored the dumbstruck expression on my mother's face. That could wait for a later discussion. "Gettin' a fancy weapon doesn't make ya a good person! What's the point of bein' a Shinigami if ya ain't got the balls ta stand up for the right thing!"

And now the whole conversation made more sense. How could I be anyone worth talking to if I was too shy to speak my mind? "Means I know who I am," I replied, irritation ebbing. "How you feel about that is up to you." _Brat,_ I added silently. She was, for all that I thought I understood what she was getting at. There were better ways to go about deciding if you liked someone. Less offensive, at any rate.

Hiyori's scowl deepened. "Whatever. Wishy-washy bimbo," she added in a voice that was technically a mumble but clearly was meant for me to hear.

"Rude child," I replied, curling my fingers around Arashi's hilt. I didn't intend to draw her, but the rush of waves and electricity that filled me when my fingers brushed indigo cloth soothed away some of the edginess Hiyori was creating in me. I turned to Makoto. "So, you said Sarugaki-kun is going to be joining us at Shin'ou? Why so late?"

I ignored Hiyori's fuming as Makoto recovered, smiling with relief at having something to talk about. "Well, if I recall what Hisana-han told me-"

"I didn't want ta have ta spend the rest of my life bobbin' my head yes to whatever a Hirako said," Hiyori snapped. "I got my own wants, y'know."

 _Way to interrupt your hostess,_ I grumbled. _Arashi, can't we shock her a little?_

Rain pattered in my soul, almost loud enough to drown out the eager zing of lightning. _That would be a waste of my abilities,_ Arashi replied. _And I'm sure the scarlet man would caution against it._

 _Does that mean you want to but don't think we can get away with it?_ I asked, struggling to hold back my snickers.

A pause. _It might._

"Some people want to serve," I replied to Hiyori, lacing my fingers together so I didn't 'accidentally' break her nose. "I do. But if that's not for you, fine." I shrugged. I could only imagine how a spitfire like Hiyori would handle being part of a clan bound to serve another, possibly so distantly related she didn't see why they should work for us anymore. Still, it grated to hear her put down people who did want to help others, assuming she defined 'serve' as 'help' the way most people did. I would've liked to include myself in that group, but as Arashi loved to remind me, I was too pragmatic to risk helping people when my definition of 'help' was bound not to match Soul Society's. The Gotei had a mission I could follow until Aizen made his first move, which was close enough.

"Hisana-han and Shinobu-han struggled with whether ta send Hiyori-chan ta Shin'ou or simply have her privately taught," Makoto broke in, desperate to not be completely locked out of the conversation. "Her aptitude was high enough that they wanted her to get the best instruction in the end, though. Ain't that nice?"

Instead of replying, Hiyori shot a look at her that was part-exasperation, part-irritation, and scornful enough to wilt flowers.

 _It's a good thing you're baby-faced_ , I thought. _You wouldn't get away with this if you looked your age._ Aloud, I said, "Shinji brought four of our friends back. I think he'd probably like some help finding them rooms. Mind if I go?"

"Not at all," Makoto said. "Hiyori-chan, d'ya want ta go with her?" _And get out of my hair?_ was left unsaid.

Hiyori shook her head. "I'm headin' back ta my room," she said. "Ya talk too much." With that, she turned and stomped off.

I watched her go. "Is she always that angry?" I asked.

Makoto shrugged helplessly. "It's like an oni switched Hisana and Shinobu's child, I swear. Such a sweet couple and they produced that girl!"

I frowned sharply. It pissed me off to hear Makoto call Hiyori an oni behind her back. I got that our clan dealt in information and naturally had to lie a lot, but did everyone have to bring business into their personal lives? "She's young," I said, glancing over at the gnarled plum. "Give her time."

* * *

A few other relatives trapped me in conversation before I could make my escape, but when I finally did extricate myself, it was with more than a little worry that I went looking for Shinji and the rest. Call me paranoid, but nothing good could come of my not being around to supervise that bunch.

Eventually a maid was able to point me in the direction of the rooms Shinji had staked out for our friends, which was lucky for me. Have you ever tried to track down a bunch of not-yet-grown kids among a crowd of fully-grown-adults? Yeah, it's not easy, especially when all the adults tend to be tall.

Still, I found the collection of simple teahouse-style cottages Shinju, Aizen, Minoru, and Nanase had been installed in after a while. Pretty little things, decorated enough that a noble clan would be proud of them but plain enough that they reminded their inhabitants that they were guests. I didn't actually get to enter them, though, since Shinju, Aizen, and Minoru, led by Shinji, were leaving right as I entered the small plaza the cottages were clustered around.

"Finally come crawlin' back ta us, eh?" Shinji called when he spotted me. "Traitor!"

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Quiet, you. Mom wanted me to say hello to one of our cousins. She's going to be coming to Shin'ou in spring."

If Shinju and Shinji's mutual crushes ever did amount to anything, I reflected, they would have an interesting time of it, exemplified by their particular reactions to that news. Shinji grinned evilly, while Shinju clasped her hands and asked, "What's her name? Is she nice? How is she going to make up her work?"

"Sarugaki Hiyori, not particularly, and I don't know," I answered, ticking off my replies on my fingers so I didn't answer anything twice. I gave Shinji a sidelong glance. "What're you plotting?"

Shinji shrugged. "I dunno! Gotta wait ta meet her so I can find out what'll tick her off the most!" He punctuated that statement with a cackle.

Minoru shook his head. "Ya got a weird family, Nariko-san," he observed. "Yer ma anythin' like Shinji and Lord Hirako?"

I hesitated, playing with a strand of hair that had fallen out of its ponytail. "A little. Sometimes I think she took better to this clan than someone born in it."

"I resent that!" Shinji said, sticking his nose up in the air. "I don't look anythin' like Mom."

I made a show of looking him up and down. "True. You're a lot prettier." I was saved from his retaliatory kick to the shin by Shinju sticking her foot out. If she applied those reflexes to her Hakuda, she might actually do well at it, I reflected.

"What's she like?" Aizen interrupted our comedy routine, breath puffing in the air. "She isn't a Hirako, right?"

I nodded. "She's part of a... branch clan, I guess? We're fifth cousins, if I remember her parents right. But the Sarugaki clan usually provides bodyguards for us. For the people who go into the Onmitsukidou, that is. I might've gotten one eventually." And Hiyori's distaste for me made sense all of a sudden. She was around the right age—deemed old enough to go to Shin'ou—to be assigned to me. With my change of plans, she would've lost the purpose she'd been trained for her whole life. Oops.

Shinju raised an eyebrow. "You were going to be an onmitsu?"

I nodded, sticking my hands into my sleeves and yanking them out as my comparatively warm arms decided they didn't like that. "It's traditional for the firstborn Hirako child to join the Patrol Corps. But an intelligence operative who doesn't want to ferret out secrets is useless, so they let me go to Shin'ou in the end." That was the harsh fact I'd had to face when I'd made it to Shin'ou. The clan elders probably hadn't let me go because they supported my dreams. They'd just recognized with an onmitsu's efficient logic that I was of more use to them in another easily observed organization I wanted to be in than I would be if they forced me into the Onmitsukidou.

Shinji whistled. "So that's how ya managed it. I thought Mom was gonna tear her hair out."

I shrugged. "Love her, but I don't really care if she doesn't approve. There's more to life than pleasing parents." Even if that sent an unpleasant twinge through my heart, it was true for my purposes. Speaking of parents, who was missing that didn't have any? "Hey, where's Nanase-kun?"

Shinji jerked his head back at the cottages. "He stayed back. Said he had somethin' ta take care of and I'm not gonna mess with a dude's private time."

I glared at him. "If you just made a dirty joke, knock it off." I sighed, scuffing my geta in frosted dirt. Maybe Nanase wasn't as extroverted as he seemed. "I'll go back and get him. I think they're reciting renga in the eastern opposing room if you want to head over there."

"Hell no!" Shinji scoffed, flapping a hand at me like it was a stupid idea. Hmph. I liked renga. "There're usually some shougi games going on in the western room. C'mon, I'll teach y'all how ta play. It's way more fun than poetry."

If he'd been hoping to get a rise out of me, I refused to reward him. I forced myself to blink mildly at him. "Sure. You guys have fun. I'll catch up once I've got Nanase-kun."

They left, calling over their shoulders for me to hurry up, and I made my way over to the cottages. I had to peer in at a couple before I found the one Shinji'd indicated—nods weren't too accurate as gestures went. Nanase had left the shouji door open a crack, so I slipped inside.

Huh. I'd never been in one of these cottages before, but the room for removing shoes and haori and such before entering the house proper was a nice touch. I slid off my geta and donned house slippers. I probably wouldn't be long, but some people really couldn't stand when you didn't switch to indoor shoes. I slid aside the painted screen and stepped in.

Nanase wasn't in the main room, which wasn't surprising. Though it included a kotatsu, the teahouse aesthetic dictated that it be sparsely furnished, so apart from said kotatsu, a low table with some cushions around it, and a statue of what I expected was the progenitor of our dogs' line in the alcove, not much decorated the place. Not that it was shabby—the statue was very well-carved, some red wood I'd never seen before, and if I knew my fabrics as well as I thought I did the cushions were upholstered with silk—but it was a little spartan for someone to hang out in.

I padded across the room and down the corridor that led to the main bedroom. I paused outside the screen door and listened, just in case Shinji had been correct. Nothing. I sighed in relief. That would've been... awkward. I opened it, stepping in with my best sheepish-but-well-intentioned smile and-

Nanase, face bloodless. Frozen, clutching bandages in his hands. Stopped in the process of binding what were unmistakably breasts. Ah, fuck.

Fire and ice flooded me as I stared at him. Her. Him? Nanase stared back as the bandages slipped from her hands.

"Get out!" she shrieked, voice pitching high and shrill. "Out, asshole!" Small hands shoved at me, forcing me over the threshold. I stumbled, landing right on my ass. When I climbed to my feet, the screen was firmly shut and the house's quiet was disturbed by short, sharp breaths.

For my part, I did nothing to disturb that silence. Mostly because the contents of my brain could best be rendered as a large question mark.

 _Nanase's a girl. Or- Nanase has boobs,_ my brain translated the panic into after a while. _Boy's name. Looks like a boy. But I've heard it as a girl's name. Haven't I? Either way, definitely a girl-body. Did Seinosuke know? He had to. Or he knew something was up. 'There are bastards wherever you go.' Arashi, did you know?_

Water rippled, an evasion if I'd ever sensed one. _I guessed,_ she said after a moment. _The way he sits. The hunch of his back after a long time spent around you. Small things. Uncertain things. I thought it better to wait to see if I was right, and to let you draw your own conclusions. This... wasn't anticipated._

 _Not anticipated?_ I snapped. _Not anticipated? You should've told me. Now I've just walked in on her. Him. Them. I don't know._

 _Then ask,_ Arashi ordered. _Or offer some reassurance. Who knows what's going through the child's head?_

 _I'm a child too,_ I thought faintly, scrabbling for some humor. _Why are you calling them one?_

 _Daoshi,_ she said, waves curling behind her words. _Go._

I shuffled forwards, brushed my knuckles on the screen in some weak attempt at a knock. "Nanase-" I began, stopping as vicarious embarrassment flooded me. I swallowed it down and kept going. "Nanase...kun? Could you let me in? I-I'm sorry. I'm really, really, so sorry. Only I told Shinji I'd come find you and-"

"Why're ya still here?" Nanase's voice was higher than mine, flat and sharp as a knife. "Why didn'tcha leave and go tail 'em? You're supposed t'kick me out. Or scream an' throw shit."

I blinked, scrambling for words as I translated the Rukongai drawl. Why hadn't I left? Even if I'd wanted to tell someone, a smart person would've given Nanase some privacy. It just hadn't occurred to me. Brilliant. "Uh, I don't have anything to throw," I said in my infinite wisdom as I stopped trying to keep my reiatsu from betraying my confusion. My own mouth gave me away anyway. "And, um, I can't kick anyone out. I think?" A laugh forced its way out of my throat. I pinched the back of my hand, both to remind myself that yes, the situation was serious, and to keep myself from passing out. My head felt awfully empty all of a sudden.

"Just get on with it. Run me through or beat me up or whate'er." Nanase's breath hitched in her throat. "Not like I ain't taken it before."

'No one my age tells me what to do' and 'friends take care of friends' collided and came out of my mouth as "No." I blinked, glad that Nanase couldn't see my puzzled expression. Nothing like loyalty and deference to authority to force a decision. But that felt right. I had a decision made and now I had to stand by it. I didn't lie to Seinosuke. I refused to let him win. "You haven't hurt me. You aren't hurting anyone I care about. You aren't doing anything wrong." I laid out my reasons, crystallizing in my mind even as I said them, nice and neat for Nanase to hear. "So why should I hurt you?"

The gasping breaths stopped. Nanase's reiatsu was shaky and wary, divided between hope and hostility. "Because- because ya seen me. Ya know. I lied t'ya."

Gah. I couldn't hold a conversation as tricky as this one from behind a screen. "Look, I'm not saying anything else until you let me in," I said, forcing the shakiness from my voice with good old-fashioned bluntness.

"I ain't stupid! I thought ya'd find out and ya did and I'm so rock-stupid," Nanase hissed. I got the sense that he wasn't just talking to me, but to himself as well. "Second I open this thing it's gonna turn out that ya lied and you'll beat me up like everybody else."

The prickling fire of frustration burned away the nervousness. "I ain't everybody else!" I hissed back, shedding Tokyo-ben for a dialect that I hoped would calm Nanase down. "I ain't! Look, Nanase, I heard it said that it's people's job ta be better than their society. Well I'm tryin', yeah? I ain't never gonna lie ta ya. I don't hate ya or whatever ya think about me. Sure, I saw, I know, but I don't know what the hell ta make of it. I don't decide what ta do unless I know enough 'bout what's goin' on. So ya better tell me. I'm mad as hell at ya fer bein' so stubborn, but I ain't makin' a judgment on anythin' unless ya tell me yer side. Got it? If I had my say in things nobody'd be beatin' up anybody."

A long pause. I'd just about given up hope of my speech working when the screen slid open. A face slightly less pale than when I'd walked in greeted me.

"C'mon," Nanase said. "Or did ya lie about wantin' in?"

I stepped in, folding myself quickly into seiza. Much harder to hurt anyone from that position. I hoped Nanase realized that. They stayed standing, whatever conclusion they reached. The bandages lay discarded at their feet, though Nanase had put on a shirt in the meantime.

"Gimme yer sword," Nanase ordered, voice brittle. "Or I'm gonna see if I deserve my Hadou grades."

My jaw tightened on instinct. Not my Zanpakutou. Not Arashi. But my first impression of Nanase was proving to be more and more correct. He was wound tighter than an onmitsu on guard duty. No question that he'd pop me in the face with a Shakkahou if I didn't. I forced my fingers to loosen my obi and slide Arashi loose. I didn't draw her. No one's fingers but mine got to touch her naked. I handed her over, palms less flat than I would've liked. At least Nanase received her with something like courtesy, not curling his fingers around her and setting her gently on the futon.

"I'm a guy," they said. "I am. Not everybody gets that. Or wants ta. An' wakin' up in Takahashi, everybody already knew what I looked like." They- he glanced down at his chest. "No hidin'. So I left. Whatever luck I had went to my reiryoku, so I came here. Nobody's made me at Shin'ou yet, not till you, but they got just enough brains ta get close, so they roughed me up. Until Yamada-san. He found me one time, whaled on the bastards who did it until he could slap a Kidou ta muddle things, an' cleaned me up an' took me in. Not perfect, but he cared." The sidelong glance Nanase sent me was unnecessary. I heard the unspoken question: _Do you?_

"He told me to take care of you, you know," I said. "Said that you'd had a rough time in Takahashi. Ah, Yamada-senpai did. I said I would." I met his eyes. "I told you, I don't lie. And at the time... I'm sorry, this is terrible of me, but I didn't care. Not really. It was just on principle. Nobody hurts people I said I'd protect. I... I think I care now. I mean, I care by now. Not all of a sudden." I tilted my chin up, working to act like I knew what I was doing. "You love life, Nanase-kun. This place needs more people like that. And it needs less people like the jerks who hurt you. I'm surprised, to be honest, but it's my nature to try to keep everything on my radar. It bothered me not knowing if you were hiding something that could come back to bite you more than it bothers me to know what you were hiding. Does that make sense?"

Nanase looked at me, long and steady. His reiatsu had subsided, less of a dog with its hackles raised than a wolf appraising whether I was a threat to his pack of one. Maybe that first impression had been off. "Y'talk too much." His voice had deepened again. "What're ya tryin' ta say?"

 _Note to self: brevity is not your strong suit. Work on that._ I shrugged. "I'm not gonna hurt you. You're my friend. I'll stand by you on principle and because I want to. You're a good guy, Nanase-kun, even if you keep secrets. Not that it's always a bad thing"—I was a prime example of that—"but I'm just a little... paranoid, I guess, about misunderstandings getting people killed." I scrunched my kimono in my hands. "Um, I really hate to ask this, but about that, what's your birth name? And is there anyone else who might want to hurt you?"

Nanase's scowl returned. "Hibiki _is_ my name."

It took an act of will for me not to scowl back. Was it so hard to understand that I was asking in case his past came back to bite him? "Yeah, I know. Let me rephrase." I laced my fingers together. "What name would people from Takahashi know you by? If I hear about death threats against 'Nanase Sakurako,' I might not know to tell you."

Nanase's expression softened slightly. "The name they called me was almost as bad. 'Tomoko.'" He shuddered violently. "But none of them are gonna come here. I was the only one with spirit power enough to get in."

I discarded the 'don't knock -ko names' joke before it could slip past my filter. Not the time. "Okay." I leaned in, trying to meet his eyes. "Thanks. You're Hibiki to me, but it makes me feel a little better to know that. Second thing: what do you want me to say to Shinji and the others? I won't say anything unless you say I can. But in my experience secrets don't stay secret for long. So... I'm not saying you have to tell anyone, or saying that I will, but... it's just a thought."

Nanase grimaced. "No. You can't tell them. You can't. You weren't supposed to know. If I tell them, it's my choice. Gotta hope for the best, but I'm in the business of expecting the worst."

I nodded, tension draining from my body as that last loose thread was tied up. No more problems, or at least none that were my problem. Nanase was safe as he could be. I didn't have to worry about him being some Hollow in disguise or one of Aizen's accomplices. "Okay, okay. That's none of my business." I gave him an apologetic smile. "But seriously, I'm sorry about all this. I shouldn't have been so nosy."

Nanase seemed to relax a bit at that. "Yeah, you think? But what's done is done. It can't be helped." He shrugged, familiar smile touching his lips. I was going to have to keep a more careful eye on his emotional state in light of that smile—a possible defense mechanism, I realized now.

We sat like that for a few minutes before I broke the silence. "Do you want to meet up with Shinji and the others? They were going to go play shougi. I'm not too good at it, but he'd probably love to teach you. We could watch, anyway."

Nanase nodded, cheer returning rapidly. "Sure! Gimme a second to, uh, get ready, and I'll be right out."

* * *

Nanase, it turned out, was a natural at shougi. Once he had the rules down, he and Shinju, equally fond of the game, spent a good few hours in matches together. Shinji and Minoru cheered them on with a gusto no doubt enhanced by the free flow of sake. Aizen I didn't catch sight of very much that first day, but we did have an extensive library, so I would've bet on him being there.

I passed the afternoon with Shinji and Minoru for a little bit, but it wasn't long before my well of tolerance for people, already low from our journey, dried up. From there I made my way back to my rooms. A heavy winter robe and a kotatsu shielded me from the cold while I added to my cache of possibly-future-relevant information.

 _Zanpakutou—wills are not always aligned with their wielders',_ I wrote, Arashi's waters whispering faintly in my mind. Seemed she hated the cold as much as I did.

 _Incorrect,_ she told me, rousing herself just enough to be audible. _Your will when I was born was to remedy the world. I must follow that broad desire, as my kin must do the same for their Shinigami. Simply because most do not change their will does not mean that a spirit will always align with a Shinigami. Should you change your will, only the creator, or some other fundamental change in your soul, could alter mine._

I stopped, brush poised to cross that out. _Is that how we got not-Oshiro? He wanted that creature originally and after he changed the spirit didn't change with him?_

The shift of staticky clouds, akin to a shrug. _Possible. Only the blood-metal-man could answer that. Continue_. With that, she subsided. Helpful.

I crossed my first addition out, replacing it with what Arashi had told me. Moving on, I turned my attention to Nanase.

 _Nanase's birth name's Tomoko. Possibly damaged emotionally, but generally positive affect makes it difficult to tell. Keep an eye on subtler cues. Threats from past are unlikely_. I paused, giving that a once-over. Seemed fine.

 _Shinji and Shinju—potential couple?_ My brush hesitated as I considered the courses of action. _Attempt to discourage affections, but back off if they don't fizzle. Odds are they'll break up anyway. Not worth jeopardizing relationship with both over._

 _Hiyori is here. No fang—look into Sarugaki clan for possible clues why. Befriend her to keep on her good side after the exile._

 _Shinju seems to value peace, but a preference for order is a trait of Kuchiki clans. Find out which one wins when push comes to shove._

Aizen is abnormally skilled. _Learn why so you can replicate it, but don't push him into the spotlight. Kid's withdrawn as heck—mother's death by Hollow is a likely influence. Probe the circumstances, in case that was a trigger._

Now for personal goals. _Learn Kidou—master basics first, but develop original spells for unpredictability. Consider devising a martial arts style for later use—don't get fancy. Useful tricks from other styles, adapted, should work fine. Zanjutsu needs the most work, but an evasion-based style may work best. Best to not get hit._

I frowned as I set my brush down, running the fingers of my other hand over my eyes. What had I been thinking of- ah, yes. I put my brush to paper again.

 _Figure out how to activate the seals without using your fingers. Just get better at moving reiryoku, period, while you're at it. Research seems to support the idea that that's the foundation for high-level Hakuda, Kidou, and Houhou, so it's a good skill to have down. Either way, there's no point in having that ability without figuring out how to use it without people knowing. Shinigami are human weapons, so weaponize it._ I underlined the last two words twice.

I sighed, rolling the scroll up and disentangling myself from the kotatsu. I rose, padding over to the painted screen that had dominated a wall of my room for as long as I could remember. The scene depicted on it was drawn beautifully, colors vivid despite the fact that the screen had been in the family for at least two centuries. Soul Society built things to last. The lurid hues and fluid yet strong lines had distracted me from its subject—a falcon flying above a snake for a panel before flying down and fighting with it in the next panel, followed by the falcon tearing into and beginning to carry the snake away before in the very last panel the snake sank its fangs into the falcon's chest. No one I'd asked about the screen had had the same answer for me as to the meaning behind the scene depicted, but I'd long since given up wondering. Like most things in the Hirako household, it was ostentatious at first glance and vaguely unsettling if one looked for any longer, which was probably the artist's intent.

"Hey, Narin!" I whirled, finding Shinji standing in the doorway. "Ain't ya gonna join the party? Shinju-chan's demandin' that I hunt ya down so she can give ya her present. And ya better have one fer me." He sauntered over, throwing an arm around my shoulders and frog-marching me out of there. "C'mon, don't be a loner! It's nearly New Years!"

I wriggled out of his grasp. "Hey, idiot, I need to get my presents for people before I can give them! Gimme a second!"

I dashed over to where I'd stashed the gifts, wrapped in cheap rice-paper beneath my calligraphy table. Two attempts to gather them into my arms later, Shinji was leading me to the enclosed pavilion where our friends had established themselves.

"Nariko-san!" Nanase sang out, waving so hard his arm looked to be about to fall off. "Open mine first!"

"Wh-what? Why am I the one opening my presents first?" I spluttered, shooting a glance at Shinju to confirm. She nodded, smiling.

"We were going to let Nanase-senpai do it first," she answered, "but he wanted to give before he received, and Aizen-san said he wanted to respect our hosts. You're older than Shinji-kun, so we decided you would instead."

I grinned, flopping down on a cushion beside her. "Hey, I'm not complaining. Just curious. Alright, let's get this going."

Shinju beat Nanase to it, thrusting a small silk bag at me the second I finished my sentence. I took it, tugging the drawstring open and withdrawing its contents.

"Whoa..." I murmured, holding up the beaded necklace the bag had contained. Silver threads winked at me from between dozens of shimmering white beads. "Fujikage-chan, what is this?"

Shinju beamed at me. "They're thought beads! I don't know how religious you are, but I figured they'd be good for your concentration. The merchant who sold me them said that the beads are made of mother-of-pearl for purification."

Aizen leaned in to get a better look. "They look like bad luck to me. White and all."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Hey, don't jinx them! Besides, if everything white's unlucky, we might as well not do anything during winter. The snow's bound to curse us all. Thanks, Fujikage-chan," I added, nudging her shoulder with mine.

Shinju shot a mock-annoyed glance at Aizen too. "Aizen-san! Now she'll fail her finals, or something awful like that!"

Aizen's peculiar soft smile dimmed. "There are things far worse than that, Fujikage-san. Who's next?"

Nanase gave me a slip with a poem written on it in his best attempt at calligraphy, glowing as though he was getting the gift. "See, read it!"

I ran my eyes over the characters. "Honor... stands like a frail orchid... in the driving storm." I glanced up at him. "Beautiful, Nanase-kun. Thanks so much! Where'd you find it?"

He rubbed the nape of his neck. "Well, I didn't know what to get you on short notice, so I went looking in the school library for poetry, and with your Zanpakutou it looked good and all... so yeah! That's how I got it!"

I nodded. "Whose turn is it now?"

Shinji gave me a brick of jasmine tea. I couldn't fathom how he'd gotten it, but I thanked him anyway—he'd already known what I'd like, naturally. Minoru's gift was a block of wood with the kanji and hiragana of my name carved into it. Turned out Fugai district had taught him some some skills that weren't strictly necessary for survival, like whittling, so a wood block it was. The wood wasn't great, but his workmanship made up for it. I made sure to wrap him in a tight hug.

Aizen's gift, in contrast, was notable for its utility. He'd written an analysis of the main branches of Hakuda and rolled it into a remarkably small scroll for the volume of information it contained. My fingers itched to open it right there, but in the name of being sociable I set it aside and instead gave him a broad smile that felt far more genuine than it had a right to. His glance away and blush made the warm-and-fuzzies in my chest get that much warmer and fuzzier.

The rest of the gifts went much like that. Shinju's were more fanciful, while Nanase's and Minoru's were understandably simpler. Aizen gave useful, handmade presents like the scroll, though the rest were less detailed than mine. Shinji's gifts ran the gamut from a practical brick of tea for me to trailing wisteria kanzashi made out of violet glass that looked as though a slight breeze would break it for Shinju. Mine relied on my most marketable skill: calligraphy. Each person received a poem written on the most delicate paper I could find with my favorite brush. I'd had to do them when we arrived at home, since the paper wouldn't survive a journey, but for being so last-minute I was proud of them. Minoru, of course, was the exception. At a market we'd stopped by on our trek, I'd slipped into a small stall and picked up the promised brush case, with some paper and a decent-quality brush to fill it.

"I wasn't sure how the inkstone would weather a journey," I told him apologetically, "or I would've gotten one of those too. Guess it's kind of a late birthday present, but... oh, just take it."

He took it as though I'd handed him a newborn baby, tying the case to his obi immediately as though someone would barge in and step on the thing the instant he set it down. I could've been wrong, but I thought his mouth quivered like he was about to cry. Oops. With any luck that meant something good.

When we saw Shinju off the next morning, my eyes weren't just watering from the cold. Best friends had never been a concept that I'd fully understood, let alone the idea of nakama, but in that moment, I thought I'd figured it out. These were my people, the ones that I could bring into my home as easily as I'd talk with them at school. Maybe... this was a complete family, the kind where blood relation meant nothing. Or maybe I'd just inhaled too many sake fumes. But I really, really wanted to believe the former.


	10. The Serpent Coils

"Hey, who wants to help me put ornaments at the entrance gate?" I shifted my grip on the ornament in my arms as I spoke. Heavy, but that was to be expected from something that was probably better described as a pine topiary than an ornament. "Anyone feeling strong today?"

"Where's the other one?" Minoru asked, glancing up from where Nanase was presently creaming him at shougi. Or at least I thought he was from the way Nanase was grinning like a maniac. Standing on the threshold didn't give me a great view. "Or two, or whatever?"

"One," I said, giving up on getting a quick answer and easing the ornament to the floor before my arms gave out. It shed a few needles, as if disappointed in my unwillingness to use reiryoku for such a mundane task. "I left it where some poor servant shoved the things at me. How he managed to carry that many decorations I don't know, but I figured it'd be nice to start a new year with a good deed, right?" Made a good excuse to get out of the bustle of people, too, but it probably wouldn't have gone over well if I'd said that too.

"What's the point?" Shinji asked, peering at the shougi board spread across the blissfully omnipresent kotatsu. "Hey, there's a move y'can make there." He tapped a square and had his hand slapped away by Nanase.

"Don't mess it up! Besides, you'll ruin his victory if he gets it only because you tell him what to do!" Nanase protested. He grinned, surveying the board. "I mean, not that that's likely, but still. Thank you, Fujikage-sensei!"

"When break's over, you'll have ta give her a kiss ta thank her," Minoru joked. "I'm movin' my foot soldier." He nudged a piece forwards.

Shinji's glare was absolutely filthy. "Like hell! I met her first!"

Time to end this silliness. "No, you didn't," I pointed out, scuffing my slippers on the floor. "She met me, then Minoru-kun. You were second-to-last."

"Third-to-last," Aizen said from where he leaned against a wall reading. Kid seemed allergic to sitting still, or at least down. "I met her after Shinji-san."

"Whatever!" Shinji said, flapping a hand at his roommate. "Junko-chan's still mine!"

"She's my roommate," I said, entering the room fully, "and she isn't dating you. If anything, Fujikage-chan's mine."

Minoru raised an eyebrow. "Something you'd like ta tell us all, Nariko-san?"

I shrugged, donning my silly smile. "Fujikage-chan's cute, what can I say? Not my type, though. Shinji can have her. Now, is anyone going to help me with this?"

To my surprise, Aizen nodded, rolling up his scroll. "I'll come with you. I need to stretch my legs."

I nodded, fixing a polite smile on my face. I'd been hoping to officially patch things up with Minoru, but that was an unreasonable expectation from the beginning, given his preoccupation. Aizen would work just fine. "Alright. You mind grabbing this one?"

"Not at all."

Ah, winter. Good for childish fantasies of being a dragon if nothing else. I drew in a deep breath and exhaled, sparing a moment to appreciate the resulting cloud before walking right through it. Sorry, cloud, but my fingers and toes would be a lot happier by a fire. Speaking of those, why wasn't Aizen freezing by now? He hadn't even been near the kotatsu.

"Aren't you cold?" I asked, sidestepping a patch of ice.

Aizen shrugged. I couldn't see his expression from where he walked in front of me, but I imagined it to be the same calm, slightly sheepish one he wore the rest of the time. Maybe I should look into his emotional stability. "Yes."

"You know there's a kotatsu in that room, right? Minoru-kun, Nanase-kun, and my idiot brother are using it, but it's got four sides," I pointed out as we trudged along. A burst of wind threw snow in my face. I spluttered, stopping to shake it away before I continued, "You don't have to sit out in the cold."

Aizen stopped as well, giving me his usual sidelong glance. The cloak Shinji had mentioned him arriving in had made its reappearance, presently shielding him from winter's bite. "I prefer layers. Fire and I... don't get along."

I shivered, trotting over to catch up with him. "That makes two of us, but even I have to avoid hypothermia."

A smile played over Aizen's lips as he waited for me to come up alongside him. "'Even you'? And you're so self-deprecating around Shinji-san and your family, too. I never would've guessed at that sort of hubris."

I tilted my head at him. "What do you mean? I haven't really said much when we've been around them."

"No," Aizen agreed as we continued down the icy path, "but that was a clue. You aren't the heir, correct?"

I nodded, pretending to find the wizened tree by the path fascinating so he couldn't see the way my lips pursed. "That's right. I'm second in line to Shinji, even though I'm older." The laughter that spilled out of me was almost genuine, memories of Aizen's final form flickering from nowhere through my mind. "Always someone better, you know."

"And your parents think Shinji's better," Aizen said. "It's clear, from the way they stand and talk."

I bit my lip. "Yes. They've never been shy about that. They're right, but even before it was clear that Shinji's reiryoku was going to be stronger than mine, they treated him as better because he was born to be the heir."

Aizen's forehead wrinkled. "But can't the Hirako change the succession?"

I hummed the singsong tune of 'yes, but no.' "If the clan elders give permission, yes. But they need good reason to do it. Uncle Haru was kicked out because the man was screwing a different woman every night and didn't even try to balance drinking and managing the clan affairs. I can't get mad at Shinji for being the heir. Captain-class reiryoku, silver tongue, good swordsmanship, brains to spare even when he doesn't study..." I tilted my head back, squinting through snow-covered lashes at the sky. Clouds didn't look too heavy. "He's got all they want." _And I don't,_ was left unsaid. I hoped I wouldn't have to spell it out. Besides, I didn't begrudge him the position much.

Aizen huffed. "You could have most of those if you wanted, Nariko-san."

I scowled, putting on a squeaky falsetto that sounded nothing like my Zanjutsu teacher's hoarse tenor. "Not you too. 'Hirako, laziness is no excuse! We can see the evidence of your training on that sword rack. You should be fighting better than this!' "Besides, a silver tongue? No. I don't like that kind of people."

"You like Shinji-san," Aizen pointed out in that soft way of his that I couldn't bring myself to be mad at. "And the rest of your family, I assume. I'd like to think you don't outright hate me, too."

I snorted. "I have to like Shinji and my family. And who says you're silver-tongued?" _Not that you aren't, but you haven't shown it yet,_ I amended.

Aizen raised an eyebrow. "I've persuaded you to talk about yourself in a place where you're used to giving your brother the spotlight," he said. "A mark in my favor, I would think. But back to my point. I think you could make your words weapons. You are smart enough to do so."

I blushed despite myself. I shouldn't have been taking compliments from a maniac, but it was kinda nice to hear that anyway. "I doubt it. People are confusing."

"That's true," Aizen conceded. "I'll admit to having felt the same way once myself. It gets easier when you keep in mind a few things, though. People have individual agendas that differ from person to person. The only constant is that everyone wants at their core to survive another day. All you have to do is discover the former and play on both." He leaned towards me like an onmitsu reporting hard-won secrets. "Please don't misunderstand this, but you strike me as the sort of person who would excel at that." His reiatsu, usually ethereal and intangible even to me, prickled on my skin like needles, testing how I reacted. My stomach clenched, the fear that had chilled my blood against Oshiro making its icy presence known again. _You played him for all he was worth, you bitch_ , it whispered.

Externally, I kept my chapped face unreadable, swallowing back the tang of blood and metal. Internally, I was frantically taking notes. Those few sentences were a veritable goldmine for information about Aizen. Assuming he wasn't lying. Which he might be, if he was trying to get rid of me as a potential obstacle. I mentally frowned and stopped taking notes. "So if everyone has an agenda, what's yours?" I asked, ignoring the quasi-compliments. He wouldn't answer, but hey, worth a shot.

Aizen's infuriatingly gentle smile reappeared as he looked and pulled away. "Didn't I just tell you? I want to survive."

"You just told me that everyone wants to survive," I complained. "C'mon, be honest with me."

His eyes traced the geta tracks no doubt left by some nutjob who thought a walk was worth frozen toes. "I can't do that, Nariko-san. But I suppose I'll tell you my 'agenda,' if you're going to be so insistent. I want to make the world a better place to live in. Simple as that."

I stared at him. Aizen, where did you go wrong? "You should already have Shikai, then," I said, forcing my voice to be light. _Please don't mean anything bad, please don't mean anything bad..._

Aizen still refused to look at me. "Motivation is one of many facets of a soul," he said, gentle tone shifting to one that fit Aizen-from-Before much better. A chill that had nothing to do with the cold ran up my spine.

We were nearing the gate at that point. "Alright," I said, "let's get this taken care of. You put yours near that post and I'll put mine near this one." I jerked my chin at the respective posts and we went our separate ways. When I set my ornament by the pole I'd chosen, it shed a small shower of needles, as though indignant that I was leaving it in the snow.

As I straightened, panting, I found Aizen leaning against the gate, cleaning his glasses. Evidently despite his scrawniness he was stronger than me. Had I lifted with my back and he'd used his legs? Was that it? Whatever. The snot presently freezing onto my face was a higher priority right now. I swiped it off and took the rare glasses-free moment to observe him. If I squinted, I could see how this kid who would've made a perfect movie nerd could eventually become the object of a million fangirls' lust. A little effort could bring much-needed order to his mop of wavy brown hair. He had no baby fat to be lost, but age and training could—and would, I was sure—add muscle to give Aizen some presence. He was already a few inches taller than me. Let puberty do its thing and there was no reason why the ugly duckling in front of me couldn't be a swan. Hell, even his eyes, silver in the lantern light, could reach bedroom-eyes status if they weren't panicky-wide all the time.

Aizen slipped the glasses back into place and the effect ended. The future attempted god-king of the worlds was only my brother's roommate. Looking at him shivering in an oversized cloak in the snow, I felt small and silly. My knowledge of a series I hadn't been a part of insisted that Aizen was pure evil. The rest of me, the part freezing and learning and growing alongside him... I couldn't believe it. That idea was ridiculous. I didn't know what Aizen had gone through in canon. Maybe the loneliness Ichigo had sensed from him had begun here, in his childhood. Everyone had shut him out and Aizen-from-Before had been left to fester in his rage and pain until he'd resolved to destroy the world that had made him that way. Could I have changed that?

 _No!_ My knees buckled as lightning blazed and a tsunami crashed in my inner world, steadying myself with a hand on the gate as the world swam in front of my eyes. _No, daoshi! He's the flaw we're supposed to correct! He can't have changed, not from a minor kindness. Lying is what he does. We've seen what he did to the fire-tree, what he did to the sun-from-Before. Unforgivable. We should just electrocute him now._

 _His future self did that_ , I argued, _and are you insane? Aizen needs to be left alive if he really is evil so we can ensure the Visoreds and Ichigo. And I don't even know what happened back then. How do you know I haven't changed him, even accidentally?_

 _It's too much of a risk!_ Arashi yelled, voice a thunderclap. _We can't trust him!_

 _That's what future-Shinji thought!_ I shouted back. _And look where it got him! Look, maybe we have to rethink things. Maybe-_

Aizen, wheezing, sank to the ground. His hood blew back, revealing a face paler than the snow. Arashi could wait. I lunged forward, not caring about the snow melting into my kimono as I knelt in front of him.

"Aizen-san!" I blurted, reiryoku leaping to my hands as I reached for him. Dammit, I hadn't thought I'd need Kidou so soon! "What-"

His hand clamped around my wrist, knuckles white. "N-Nariko. G-get away from me. Need space or-" He broke off into a coughing fit, releasing my wrist to cover his mouth. I scooted back. _Breathing room, Nariko_ , I told myself. _Give him breathing room._

When his coughing sounded less like an attempt to puke up his lungs and Aizen's body stopped spasming, I dared to speak. "You okay?"

Aizen shoved his glasses back up his nose. "I think so. My apologies for the rudeness. When attacks come out of the blue I tend to forget my place." His smile, though shaky, was his usual sheepish one. My worries eased.

"It's fine," I assured him, filing away the information. _Aizen's definitely sick and knows it. Cough and faintness like Ukitake. Anything else?_ "As long as you're okay, you don't have to apologize to me. Want help up?" I stood, holding out a hand to him.

Aizen shook his head, taking advantage of the gatepost's support as he climbed to his feet. "Such courtesy. Truly, you're a diamond in the noble coal mine."

For the second time that night, he'd made me blush. I glanced away as heat stained my cheeks. "Hey, there are a fair few nobles who'd object to that. And some others who actually don't deserve it. Are you sure you're fine? Anything I can do to help?"

"No," Aizen said, straightening fully. "I'll take care of it myself."

I bit my lip as we started back towards the house. "You don't have to, though. We're all more than willing to lend you a hand."

"If I didn't know better," Aizen said, voice soft, "I'd say you'd taken my words to heart. You're very quick to offer someone of no family a place in yours."

How did I respond to that? Offense? Pride? Embarrassment at him being closer to the truth than I would've liked? I went with a joke. "What, you hate us all that much? Have the Hirako been so inhospitable? Clearly I'm going to have to drag you to tonight's toast kicking and screaming."

Aizen seemed willing to go with my change in subject. "I don't drink," he said, "but I assure you that I'm not such an ungrateful guest. What all goes on then?"

I shrugged. Unencumbered by the ornaments, we were making good time. The rising moon had even begun to peek through the veil of clouds. "I dunno. People eat a lot and make good wishes to each other for the new year. There's a lot of collaborative poetry. Some of it gets absolutely filthy, depending on how drunk people are. Honoka-obaasan tries to predict relationships and doom for everyone she sees, so you can expect to be thrown together with someone you've never met and have her declare that you'll have a prosperous marriage and a fiery death."

A gust of wind rattled iced-over branches and nearly drowned out Aizen's breathless laughter. "So I can expect that Shinji-san and I will end up at her table? His hair's so long that I'd imagine he's been thrown together with men a few times."

I grinned. "Every year."

* * *

"Young master," Honoka bawled, lacquered claws digging into Shinji's palm, "you'll fall in love with a beautiful maiden clad in pearls and have a long an' happy courtship with her. But before y'can achieve it, a great disaster will lay ya ta rest in the desert king's grave an' a Hollow take the blushin' bride."

"Told you," I whispered to Aizen as we watched Shinji and Hiyori squirm in front of my who-knew-how-many-times-great-aunt. Her formal kimono, Shinigami-black with gaudy orange poppies splashed across the shoulders and our clan's camellia crest, made my fingers itch to pull it off of her and exchange it for something even slightly more appropriate. Her sagging skin probably contained the secrets to the universe in its folds. Neither stopped her from having a keen eye for who would be easily embarrassed. "She usually gets a couple to go up, though. Maybe it's because Shinji's true love isn't here?"

"If you think he's destined to marry Fujikage-san, yes," Aizen whispered back. Like me, he made no mention of my great-aunt's filthy language. Civilians didn't talk about Hollows unless they were ripping someone a new one. "Thank goodness Fugai-san took himself out of the pool of contestants." He nodded over towards where our friend dozed in happy, drunken warmth. Poor kid could hold his liquor better than I'd expected, but not nearly as well as he'd expected. At least everyone around here was an expert at handling alcohol poisoning in themselves and others. Nanase had long since fled, citing the fact that he knew he couldn't hold his liquor and didn't want to have one of our relatives force him to try.

I snickered. "Hey, it's Sarugaki-kun's turn. She's the cousin my mother introduced me to."

"What's she like?" Aizen asked, nibbling on dango. The evening had revealed that he could really put food away. Maybe the growth spurt I'd expected would come soon.

"Mean, but I think she's just mad because when I switched to Shin'ou she lost her position as my future bodyguard. Security's highly prized in the branch clans. I think I told you all that she'll be returning to Shin'ou with us, right?" I rushed my words, just in case Honoka finished her palm-reading of Hiyori. Hard to say whether her ancient eyes were even looking at my apparent cousin. "Anyway, she'll grow up. Plenty of reiryoku to spare, too."

"Not similar to Shinji's, I hope?" Aizen said as Hiyori yelped, Honoka presumably having tightened her grip.

"Closer to my level, actually," I replied, scooting closer to him as someone left the hall and the heat of the crowd was undercut by frigid air. "What do you wanna bet we'll be rivals?"

"I-" Aizen began.

"A liar!" Honoka screeched, releasing Hiyori and flinging out her bony arms. Partygoers, entirely used to her by now, didn't even glance over to make sure she hadn't just suffered a heart attack. "Ya must draw close ta the pair of liars an' beware the snake! Oh, it'll come fer ya, darlin', an' take ya too. Sink its fangs inta yer heart, but its remorse will turn aside the falcon's claws and leash the jackal with its teeth at your throat. Yer only bright spot is the liar whose love fer ya will burn eternally in his breast. The second will be cast aside as gilt trash, a sword no longer worthy ta protect ya."

I choked on breathless laughter. Granny'd gone off her rocker tonight. That wasn't even fortune-telling, just a bunch of pseudo-poetry gibberish. "Pretty doom-heavy," I gasped to Aizen between bursts of giggles. "I should leave before she tries to-"

"Off with ya!" Honoka shouted, flapping her hands at Shinji and Hiyori to shoo them away. "Nariko-hime! Get yer inked-up ass over here, an' that boy you're with too!"

 _Fuuuuuuuuuck. Time to leave._ I stood, tugging Aizen up by his sleeve. "You know some flash-step, right? Let's- Oof!" Someone, crowing with laughter, had taken it upon themselves to shove us forward, out of the crowd. When Aizen and I regained our balance, Honoka was glaring right at us. And seriously, how had she seen the tattoos?

"C'mon, girlie! I'm old! I don't have all night! I might not even have the next hour!" She hacked theatrically. "C'mon! Let yer old auntie trace yer fate an' find ya love!"

"Just humor her, Nariko-san," Aizen murmured. "She can't be that bad."

Well, what was I going to do now? Disappoint my friend and my borderline-senile aunt? "Fine," I grumbled as we picked our way over to her table. "I blame you if we die horribly."

Honoka's hands snared our palms before we'd even sat down. "Love!" she howled, the ornaments holding up her pile of white hair rattling as she threw her head back. Something that bore a suspicious resemblance to one of our missing ink brushes clattered to the ground. "Sweet, tender love, like a maiden's blush! But when the sky's cup is full, it'll bear witness to a turn to limitless passion. Great tragedy born of threefold treachery will smite ya both and part ya like the world barrier. The hands of one shall forge the sword that slays the other and brings the final outpouring of ardor."

The thunk that followed could've come from our released hands hitting the table or our jaws dropping.

"B-but I'm not a blacksmith!" I stammered, choosing to focus on the part of the rant that wasn't insanity given voice. Love? With Aizen? The roar of laughter around us only served to deepen my blush as I curled in on myself.

"I-I would never hurt Nariko-san!" Aizen blurted, face paler than it had been during his coughing fit. His hands balled into fists, Aizen surged to his feet. His ethereal reiatsu twisted, near-tangible rage souring the air. "I would never! Take that back! Take it the fuck back!"

"Ya wanna defy fate, boy?" Honoka struggled to her feet, planting her cane on the ground. "No amount of cursin' is gonna help ya! Love is love and death is death! I ain't the source, jus' the messenger! Ungrateful brats!" She turned and hobbled off at a truly impressive clip.

I tugged at Aizen's sleeve. "Let's go," I whispered. Eyes were turning our way. A few men, well into their cups from the look of it, looked like if I wasn't the clan head's daughter they would've broken their sake flasks over my head. "I think everyone needs some time to calm down." _Especially you, if you're cursing_ , I added silently.

Aizen was rooted to the ground, an iron statue unfazed by merely human efforts. "No," he hissed, lips pulled back in a very un-Aizenlike grimace. His sword hand gripped his Zanpakutou with white-knuckled fingers. "That hag needs-"

"You need to calm down," I hissed back, yanking on his sleeve. "Losing your temper isn't an excuse for threatening an old woman."

Aizen stumbled into me, resistance evaporating. "My temper," he mumbled as we wove our way through the mob of people. "Yes, better not to lose that..."

The freezing air outside hit me like a slap in the face. I bit my lip to avoid cursing, but a little ice had to be good to cool Aizen's head. I marched him away from the house, over to a pavilion in the center of the courtyard. In the summer we would've used it for moon-viewing. Tonight was too cold for such an occasion, but the moon blazed full in the sky, so bright that its silvery surface was paler than the snow it shone on.

I gave Aizen a few seconds to compose himself, pretending to be looking at the moon while I waited. The conversation would go a lot more smoothly if he wasn't ready to lash out at me too. Which... worried me, really. From the moment I'd met him, Aizen had been all calm words and soft suggestions. Just as I'd begun to get used to this idea of a gentle, sweet future world-conqueror, the ugly, mad Aizen that Ichigo'd dethroned had reared his head.

"Please don't be mad," I said, tucking in my chin as a chill breeze tried to stick its icy fingers down my top. "Honoka-obaasan's just like that. She predicts all this ridiculous stuff every year, I told you. She doesn't mean anything by it—it's hard to tell if she- if she's really all here, to be honest."

Aizen stuck out his chin. His hold on his Zanapakutou hadn't loosened in the slightest. "It's not that easy," he choked out, each word strangled by that nameless emotion that could sour into despair or fury. My arms ached to wrap around Aizen before he could cry, while my legs trembled, ready to flee before he could yell.

"No, I know it's not," I soothed, forcing my uncooperative body to shuffle closer to him. "It's hard to control what you're feeling. But please, don't get mad at her. Everyone knows you wouldn't hurt anyone."

"They don't know anything," Aizen whispered. My legs steadied. That was definitely a crying voice. I inched closer. Our shoulders were touching now.

Silence hung between us. The tail end of a line of obscene poetry drifted over from the house. I cringed, trying to cobble together a sentence that would cut to the heart of the matter.

"I meant what I said earlier," I said, glad that the dark hid the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. "You don't have to do things alone. We're friends."

"No one shares everything," Aizen said. He made no effort to push me away, which I took as a good sign. His shoulders shook like a bird shuffling its wings. "You keep secrets, don't you?"

"Of course I do," I replied, wiggling my fingers to get some feeling back into them. I had to turn this situation around. The depression that might've-maybe-who-knew led to Aizen's defection shouldn't be encouraged, but the idea of exposing my weak points to him set my teeth on edge. "Everyone does. But friendship doesn't mean not having secrets. It means... understanding that there are people you can trust with those secrets if you want to." There it was, that spark of this is all I need to say, that thrill of condensing a million thoughts into ten words. But concision meant nothing if Aizen didn't want to listen.

Aizen finally turned to look at me, eyes shining wetly from behind dark lenses. I swallowed the burst of laughter that bubbled up in me at the bizarre mental image of Aizen falling flat on his face, half-blind in the darkness. Bad time. "You know how I said you could succeed with manipulation, Nariko-san? I told the truth. You have this way about you. This... efficiency that lets you treat even people like objectives. Like when you killed Oshiro."

"I didn't want to," I whispered before he could get any further. _Nonono stop you have no right-_ Guilt, and anger for feeling guilty in the first place, sank their talons into me. "I didn't want to. It's wrong, and I know it, but Himura-sensei says I was right and it wasn't-"

"Himura-sensei is right," Aizen interrupted. "Anyone would rather have you than a crazy monster." His shoulders hunched again. Damn the dark. Being so close to him and near-blind made my skin crawl with worry, both for him and for me. Arashi wanted me to learn to read people? Not happening when I couldn't freaking see. Couldn't see the lines of his body telling me what buttons not to push. Couldn't see hands forming seals for Hadou I couldn't block.

 _Back on topic, Nariko,_ I reminded myself. _You can whine later._ I opened my mouth to respond, but Aizen continued.

"I-I like you, Nariko-san. I do. But I can't help wondering how safe it is to give you a window into- into me. You might not like what you see." He swallowed hard, though his arm, no longer clutching his sword, wasn't a barrier between us anymore. Good sign. "You might not want to see it anymore."

Ah. There it was, the teenage desire for acceptance. I felt old just thinking it, but Aizen had said it himself. I dragged my brain, fed up with all this sentimental nonsense, back to the present. Tuning out Aizen's pain because I was bored would be rude.

"Hey," I said, switching tacks. If the pithy, understanding Nariko who was at home in the night hadn't worked, maybe the fiercely lighthearted, clever one would. "You think I don't have skeletons in my closet? Yeah, right. Everybody does. Doesn't mean we should all go be hermits until we're good enough for each other." I bumped shoulders with him. "If you wait until you're good enough to open up and be friends with people, you'll never get there at all, you know?" Ah, now Shinju had me doing it too. Moving on. "So don't worry about me approving of you and whatever secrets you have. That's your business. Just know that I wouldn't hang around you if I didn't like you."

Silence, made all the more nerve-wracking by the groan of the pavilion as a blast of wind rattled it. _I fucked up. Oh yeah, I fucked up big time. Time to dig a grave. Yep._

Aizen's sleeve brushed my wrist. I froze. _What the-?_ The part of me that knew what was coming rushed hot blood to my cheeks. Calloused fingers neared calloused fingers and-

"Hey! Lovebirds! The clan head's about ta give a toast! Ya wanna look respectable or not?" Hiyori bawled. Common sense and instinctive shame fought, the latter winning out as Aizen and I jumped apart.

"W-we weren't d-d-d-doing anythin'!" Aizen stammered. In between blurting out similarly flustered reprimands and murmuring assent, I noted the way a Rukongai accent clipped the end of his sentence. Aizen never had said where he was from, but his accent usually fell much nearer to Shinju's than Minoru's. Another note to put in my scroll.

Hiyori snorted. "Like I give a shit. C'mon." She slid the door open and disappeared inside.

I shrugged at Aizen. "Might as well go see if Minoru's awake, right? C'mon."

* * *

Yeah, he was drunk. Or hungover at least. Hard to tell.

'He' in this case was dear old Dad, slumped over his desk. Idiot must've had too much last night, even for him. I couldn't bring myself to be sympathetic. Still, I tried to step lightly as I entered his study. No need to put him in a bad mood before we had whatever conversation he'd called me here for. He and Mom, who looked slightly less hungover but made even less of an attempt to sit properly beside him, wore looks that would've been alarmingly serious if they hadn't been so bleary-eyed.

"Na'iko," he slurred, "shuh the door. This ain't a, a whaddyacallit, a conversation fer anyone ta hear."

I did as he asked, folding myself into seiza when I reached them. What were they going to do, talk to me about Oshiro? I breathed deep, trying to ignore the smell of sweaty partygoer as I schooled my expression to something that hopefully looked calm and open and very much not nervous.

To my surprise, my parents straightened, booze-fogged eyes hardening clear and sharp. Half-hidden by stained silk, their frames were tense in a wholly different way from Himura, poised to strike rather than tensed to block. _Bad time to remember that they're technically 'knives,' isn't it?_ I thought, torn between wanting to laugh and run for the hills. I knew my father the sake-brewer and paper-pusher. In front of me knelt Hirako Kenji, spymaster and Shifting Moon Headmaster. I knew my mother the cloth-dyer and nag. The woman coiled beside Kenji was Matsumura Makoto, who had never deigned to match her naginatajutsu against mine and always had had a knack for sneaking up behind me even when I listened for her steps.

"Yes?" I said, scrabbling for some control over the conversation. Had to get in the first word, even if they'd have the last.

"I'm told ya pick up details other people don't notice," Kenji said. His eyes locked on mine. So that was how it was going to be. A nice little unspoken 'screw you,' seeing who would slip up in the game of indirect talking first.

"An' anyone can see that ya grew up real fast," Makoto followed up, in case I'd hoped we could avoid that topic. Her eyes met mine as well, the same cool brown as Shinji's. Didn't one of my parents share my eye color? It was a bizarre thought, but I needed bizarre thoughts right now, not serious discussions with my parents. The Talk had been awkward enough.

"Are you?" I said, pure Shifting Moon. See how the battle stands and react later.

"Fact is, the Court's lady healer got her eye on ya," Kenji continued, drawl thick. He tucked a lock of golden hair behind his ear. "Y'know, I expected that Shinji'd run with a bad crowd and get himself inked up," he said, casual as if he was changing the subject.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. "Well, Shinji's too young to try attracting women that way. No need," I replied, wondering which one of us would make the first move. "You know, my Hakuda teacher has tattoos. Wonder what they do? Anyway, he's a real tough guy—Himura Kyou is his name. Nothing like my teacher for Introduction to Zanpakutou, the first one. We had to have a new one for finishing up the class since the first one had an accident. They should really make sure teachers are in good health, but he did hold out for several years."

"I heard tell that the classes force ya ta mature just ta keep up," Makoto said, fingering a knickknack that had fallen off of Kenji's desk. "Would ya say that's true?"

I hummed, wobbling my hand back and forth. "I suppose so. I've had to be more active in learning, certainly. I was banned from the library briefly, actually." I grinned, both to maintain the pretense that this was a casual conversation and because it was actually pretty funny in retrospect. What kind of teacher tried to stop kids learning?

An icy vise gripped my stomach. The kind that wants to murder and eat you. It was warm enough now that the grasses that carpeted the estate only had a thin layer of frost, but I shivered. My hand trailed to Arashi's hilt. Her smooth silk called up the usual whisper of water and crackle of electricity, which left the chill inside untouched.

"I'm not supposed to talk about them," I blurted out, hands flitting to my face. The cluttered, secluded study pressed in around me like a prison. I swallowed hard, focusing on the pulse of my reiryoku within. Breathe in and lightning gathered. Breathe out and waves crashed, soothing away some of the heat that burned in my cheeks. Defeated, like always. "Captain Unohana said so."

Makoto's face was caught briefly between a smirk and her pity-pout. Really, my mother was prettier when she was smiling. Her expression smoothed. "Captain Unohana's power doesn't extend ta Hirako clan affairs."

"Captain Unohana knows what she's doing," I argued, ducking my head so I couldn't look at her and lose my nerve. Focus on this argument. This is here and now. "She wouldn't take action if it was a clan matter."

"Clearly she did," my father drawled. "Ya ain't yet a Shinigami, Zanpakutou or not. You're our problem alone until ya graduate."

I gritted my teeth. _I am not the fucking problem child. I have never been the problem child_. "So," I began, "what did you-"

"Ta congratulate ya," he interrupted, drumming his fingers on the desk's smooth blond wood. "Yer mom an' I, we think ya got a lot more goin' fer ya than we ever woulda guessed. Makes me shake ta think how good ya woulda done as an onmitsu."

My face, damn its stupid betraying inked-up self, broke out into a grin. I moderated it quickly to a shaky closed-lipped smile. "Th-thanks. I- uh, yeah. Thanks."

Kenji looked at me for a few long seconds, waiting for me to stop falling all over myself. He continued on, as I'd known he would. My heart sank. Couldn't they just let me have this moment? "Course, ya ain't some Kuchiki flowerlet ta show all yer riches and be content with 'em. Ya gotta learn ta temper it, Nariko. Pick an' choose what ya show."

Makoto bobbed her head. "That's right. We haven't raised ya ta show all yer cards. Ya really gotta bide yer time, Nariko, wait 'til the time's right."

I blinked. What? That wasn't right. Shinji was flashy as all hell. Shinji straight-up announced when he wanted to kick people's asses. Everyone knew Shinji was the heir and what power that gave him. Shinji-

 _Shinji._ Fear and joy died together as realization set in. _It's about Shinji again. Big fucking shock. How could you? How could you, how could you, how could you, you- why?_ "What?" I whispered. I wasn't even an onmitsu. They had no right to act as though I was. Except they did, because they were my parents. I let my long sleeves fall over my hands to disguise the clenched-white fists they'd formed. I couldn't talk. Couldn't move. Couldn't act. They'd given me everything, far more than Minoru and Nanase and Aizen had likely grown up with. It was the least I could do to listen and obey.

Makoto continued on as though she hadn't heard me. Probably hadn't. Volume was what you needed around here. The only things that were quiet were other people's secrets. "Great that you've gotten so far, darlin'. Really. So young an' so skilled. A piece of advice, Nariko: power's what ya make of it. Ya think this clan got where it is by chargin' in and releasin' all its knowledge in some great flood? Hah. The key ta power is usin' it in small doses, ya see? Little bits here an' there. You'll take after the clan that way, I think. No huge walloping load of power, somethin' discreet." She pursed her improbably perfect pink lips. "Sorry ta be that voice of reason, but ya ain't never gonna be some titan like the Captain-Commander, if'n ya were hopin' fer that." Her laugh, normally an almost braying sound that made you want to start laughing too, sounded like someone was punching her in the stomach. "Yer father an' I were wrong about ya not bein' able ta survive that way, but ya ain't no earth-shaker."

"Shinji says I could be a lieutenant." The words tore free from my lips before I could bite them back. I dropped my gaze to the floor, sticky heat rushing up under my collar. _Idiot, don't be rude,_ I scolded myself. That wouldn't help me at all.

Kenji frowned at me. "Nariko, darlin', please don't take this the wrong way. I'm just tryin' ta make sure ya don't get yer hopes up for nothin', it bein' such a competitive job an' all. But Shinji ain't even old enough ta know that girls his age ain't fond of gettin' their hair pulled no more. Hell, he doesn't even have his Shikai yet. Which I was hopin' ta talk ta ya about."

I nodded, trying to inconspicuously stop my nose from running and giving me away.

"When ya came ta me talkin' about goin' off ta Shin'ou, we talked about how Shinji's got more raw power than you," he said. "Which brings me ta an interestin' problem. Ya already honed yer power into somethin' that might be usable, given some work. Shinji, well, he ain't reached that level yet. He's got lotsa power, but his reiatsu ain't got more of an edge than the classmates y'all brought back. I'd compare ya ta an arrow, bein' precise an' effective but useless without trainin' and good circumstances. Shinji I'd call a warhammer. Kid ain't got subtlety, can be seen a mile away an' dodged easily, but he's got a lot goin' for him with a little discipline."

No. They weren't asking that. They weren't turning this to Shinji again. No. _Please, Kannon, make him say something evil so I can hate him._

"So, yer mom an' I were thinkin' that maybe ya could show him a thing or two, hurry him along. It's important that Shinji demonstrates his power early so he can climb the ladder before all my hairs turn grey." He grinned, tugging at his mane unscathed by old age even after centuries. I had to smile at the sheer resemblance he had to Shinji with that expression.

We sat there in silence for a few seconds before I worked up the nerve to make a final attempt at making the conversation the self-centered one it should've been. The acid-fire of jealousy ate away at my core like I'd drunk lye. Maybe I should've brought some along to put myself out of my misery.

"Did you have anything you wanted to say about my perceptive abilities?" I tapped my cheek beneath my right eye. "I think you mentioned something about those."

Makoto perked up. _Shut your mouth,_ I growled in my head. _At least I can stand to hear Dad's voice chew me out._ "Well, I had a couple of thoughts on 'em."

I steeled myself and choked out the words she wanted to hear. "Oh, what were those?"

Makoto beamed as winter wind whistled above our heads. I was absurdly thankful for the tiled roofs instead of the thatched ones I'd seen on my way here. "Well, ya see, them bein' so new an' all, it's understandable that ya might not be able ta use 'em ta their full potential yet. A bit of practice might do ya some good, if ya can avoid gettin' caught. I'm sure that if ya found the chance someday, the clan would welcome some discreetly gathered news."

I focused in on the sentence that I could hear without wanting to throw Kenji's damned paperweights at Makoto's head. "Yeah, I was already planning to experiment with them when I got the chance. Thanks anyway." I let my face go slack, staring past them as though I'd forgotten something important. "Ack! I'm so sorry! I've got to go get ready. Shinji and our friends and I were going to go practice Zanjutsu. Mind if I do? Keep my strength up as a good Shinigami and all?" I plastered wide eyes and a sheepish-but-content smile on my face, a perfect whimsical mask. Might as well keep putting my plans of acting in place. I could use the happiness, too, fake or not.

They shook their heads in unison, lines of their bodies drooping back into my parents' forms, hungover partygoers like they were supposed to be. I wondered idly if I'd ever get that in sync with someone.

"Go easy on yer brother!" Makoto called as I backed out of the room.

"Go on ahead, darlin'," Kenji said, smiling tiredly. "Have fun."

 _Go sleep and get rid of the heaviness in here,_ my body murmured.

 _Go to that training session_ , my brain whispered, sounding the least eager of them all.

* * *

"Sex!"

"Eh?"

The speakers were Shinji and Minoru respectively. At Minoru's insistence, we'd followed the rules of kendo and only awarded points for strikes made with kiai. Shinji'd complained for easily ten minutes about Minoru only wanting to follow the rules to avoid getting creamed, but when he'd gotten into it he'd proved to be creative about which words he used.

"Banned!" I called out, panting on the sidelines. Shinji'd trounced me, as expected, though I'd done better than I'd hoped. "That's just silly, Shin."

Nanase, laughing his ass off, piped up as soon as he found his breath, "No! Let that stay! That's the best one yet!"

I glared at him in mock fury. "No way! That's- that's obscene!"

The handful of people who'd gathered to watch tittered. Some of them, if their outfits were anything to judge by, would beg to differ. Didn't these people know it was winter? At least they left the judging to us.

I cast a pleading glance at Aizen. The polite friendliness between us had fallen back into place, but it didn't fit right, like a new board squeezed into place in old flooring. Something else belonged there, but fuck if I could figure out what. The potential of a threat shimmered too strongly around him for me to consider close friendship for now, but distance was achingly wrong. Honoka's rambling was laughable. I wasn't left with any real options but to continue on like nothing had happened. "Guess you're the tiebreaker, huh?" I chirped, donning the whimsical mask for the second time that day. "Quick! Stop the advance of these perverts!"

He looked at me for a second, expressionless, before his own mask appeared, faintly-crinkled eyes and faintly-smiling mouth and faintly-there presence. Had he recognized my pretense for what it was? "I'm afraid I have to agree with Nariko-san," he said with that half-apologetic tone he always used. "The point is to hit an opponent's physical weak points, not their mental ones."

Minoru could've passed for a plum from one of our trees, bearing fruit early. "A-Aizen-san! I am not- well, you know. I'm not!" he squawked.

Aizen folded his hands in his lap, curling his legs around the bench we huddled on. "I'm afraid I don't know, Fugai-san," he replied. "That could mean any number of things." Only the curl of his mouth in a slier smile than normal said his words held no malice.

Minoru raised his bokken in a mock-threat. "See if I don't put you in your place!"

I jerked as Aizen surged to his feet. The bony angles of his body smoothed as muscles I hadn't even known rippled under pale skin. Nanase and I were on our feet in a second. My eyes flicked around the field. Gravel, trees, grass, winter sky reiatsu pressing the air from my lungs. Dammit, what'd he-

Nothing. I—and half the other people here—had glanced around, looking for a Hollow or bandits or whatever. People here had a weird way of going about life, complacent and ordinary except for the ability to be ready to take it to the wall in a heartbeat. Hell, some of the dainty maidens, as much as any of my cousins were dainty or maidens, had drawn daggers out of nowhere. Minoru had whirled, brandishing his bokken.

Shinji stood stock still, staring at Aizen like he knew where the real threat was.

"Guys, guys," Nanase said, startling everyone out of their daze, "it's fine. No worries." He swept his sunny smile over the gathered watchers. Sure enough, their frozen forms melted into your usual chattering group of nobles, if a slightly shaken one. Shinji slid back into his kendo stance. Minoru mirrored him a second later, as though convinced that some beastie really was about to pop up.

I shook the lightning-pain of shock away. Arashi's eager crack of thunder faded into a murmur of rain as I took my seat again. No alarm. So why had he-

Shinji beat me to it. "Hey, dickhead! Don't worry everybody like that!" he snapped, blond ponytail whipping like a striking snake as he shook his head violently. "Ya wanna be a Shinigami, don't ya? Ya can't be jumpin' at nothing!"

Aizen's head snapped around. His eyes, so wide they looked about to fall out of his head, narrowed to hawklike slits. For an instant the air burned between them, sour-dark around Aizen and clear-light around Shinji. _Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuck where's Shinju when I need her?_ Not a threat that had made Aizen stand up. His dark side rearing its head again.

"Hey!" I blurted. The cogs of my brain turned at lightning speed. Where was I going with that outburst? Wise? Funny? I went with carefree, pulling the smiling mask up again. "C'mon, it's all good, right?" I tapped the tips of my index fingers together for the cutesy effect. "We've got time until we're Shinigami, don't we? I hope so, or I'm screwed." A huff of a laugh escaped my throat. "And besides, the Fourth isn't the worst if you're jumpy. Bet I'll be a sewer cleaner. Wanna help me, Nanase-kun?" I shot him a pointed look, still smiling.

He took the hint, releasing a giggle that sounded surprisingly natural. Good on you, Nanase. "Yeah, sure! Shinji-kun can boost morale an' Aizen-san can tell stories so we don't get bored an'- and Fugai-kun can help us 'cause he keeps his stuff so neat anyway and Fujikage-chan can pretty up the place," he chattered.

Shinji stayed tense for a second, eyes bright as his hair with some dangerous emotion. Then his straight tall sharp gold lines dulled and drooped back into my brother's slouching form. "Hey! That's my sister right there! Ya sayin' she ain't pretty?"

"Shinji!" I screeched, flapping my hands at him because a hyped-up Hirako would do that. "You can't just say that! After all, it's not my fault Fujikage-chan's only pretty compared to my great beauty." I ran cold-reddened fingers through my hair and tossed my head for good measure.

There. The social wires that stretched taut between us slackened. Aizen's shoulders lifted in a deep inhale, hunched in a foggy exhale worthy of a dragon. He plopped back down on the bench. The glasses, nearing the end of his nose during the argument, resumed their normal place jammed up the bridge of his nose. Minoru and Shinji took their stances again, raising their bokken like they were prepared to end this day bleeding out on the field together.

Boys.

* * *

"We gotta walk back? What kinda bullshit is that?"

"How else ya wanna do it, huh? We ain't got horses or carriages or shit. The Hirako aren't lazy."

"I ain't lazy! I ain't even askin' ta go back another way, ya idiot! You're the one who suggested that!"

"Ya complainin' because yer legs are too short ta- Bitch!"

 _Thank you, Takaokami, for the cold weather._ My face was too frozen-stiff to scowl at Shinji and Hiyori's antics. They'd been bickering since we'd started packing. How did people get off on the wrong foot that quick? Speaking of which, Hiyori was trying to stomp on Shinji's again.

"Hey, you two, can you maybe save the fighting for when we've got teachers around to pull you apart? I don't think anyone here's keen on getting caught in the crossfire." I gestured around our group. Minoru, Aizen, and Nanase had all proven to have the good sense to keep their eyes on Shinji and Hiyori, but if Hiyori started throwing things who knew if vigilance would protect us.

"He started it!" they blurted in unison. I face-palmed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. _Three, two, one-_

Hiyori's face flushed red. "Hey! Ya asshole! I'll strip right here, see if I don't! I'm a girl!"

Shinji made a show of raising an eyebrow as high as it could go. "What? Really? Oh, my greatest apologies, madam."

"Hey, the slapstick's gone on long enough," my father drawled, deep voice cutting off the yowl growing in Hiyori's throat. "Makoto an' I'd like ta see y'all off before we're old an' grey."

We made the usual goodbyes and see you soons and be safes. Dad dragged it out a little longer to give Nanase a seafoam yukata that he swore would travel well, but otherwise they let us go on our way with surprisingly little fuss. That was the Hirako clan for you. Leave the house and they trusted you'd made that choice because you could handle yourself.

As we tromped off down the ice-encrusted path, I couldn't help but wonder if I was the exception to that rule.


	11. Its Scales like Diamonds

**Sorry for disappearing, everyone! I've been working very hard on the version available on AO3 and forgot it was up here. I'll be posting the other chapters bit by bit, but they take work to reformat for this site.**

* * *

Freezing inside and freezing outside. I didn't know why I bothered to hang out in my dorm room if it was nearly as cold as the ice-crushed world outside. That slight temperature increase was only due to the presence of another warm body in there. Which, come to think of it, was probably most of the reason I spent any more time than I had to here.

"Have a fun time without me?" Shinju didn't look up as I entered the room. Her brush stained the pale paper in front of her with black ink, smooth, fluid strokes that I could probably have learned something from.

I resisted the initial urge to roll my eyes. An hour back and I'd already pissed her off?

Wait a sec. Shinju. Pissed off. I didn't need Arashi's almost-storm clouds rolling in my soul to know that this was exactly the opposite of normal. And that despite the alarm bells clanging in my head, I didn't have the faintest idea of how to deal with it.

"If you count my relatives practically emptying our stores of sake and my crazy great-great-great-aunt ranting about me falling in love with Aizen-san fun, I guess." I shrugged off my jacket, draping it over one of the wardrobe's knobs. "Could've used you. My little cousin that we brought back has the temper of a wild dog."

"Who's she? Anyone I might have heard of?" Shinju's brittle voice asked. I couldn't say that Shinju had asked the question. Shinju had retreated into this pretty little shell to let habit do the talking.

 _Empathy. I need empathy. But what's the problem? What'd I do?_ I thought frantically, turning away to set Arashi on the sword rack to hide my discomfort. 'Without me.' _Is she feeling lonely? Unwanted? Is it what I didn't do?_

I went with that, brushing imaginary dirt off my hakama as I plopped down beside her. "I doubt it," I said so she couldn't try to deflect me by saying I hadn't answered her question. "What's wrong, Junko?"

I'd just opened my mouth to repeat myself when her head jerked up. Should've expected a delayed reaction from a Kuchiki retainer, slow to adapt in war as they were in peace. "What did you call me?" she snapped, twilight reiatsu grating against mine. Her brush creaked ominously in a white-knuckled grip.

"Junko," I answered, adopting that neutral tone and expression that pissed people off with how bland and inoffensive it was. "I know I should've asked to drop the honorifics, but it is a nickname."

Shinju's breath hissed through her teeth. In and out, slow and shuddering. Her face, drenched in the watery winter light, twitched. When she'd taken about five rhythmic breaths, Shinju spoke again. "Are you trying to get me mad? I should've known it would take a while for a Hirako's true colors to show. Nariko." She added my name in an afterthought that managed somehow to convey even more rage than already simmered in her tightly-controlled voice.

Well, that was easy. "Yes," I said, dropping the mild mask. "You've been avoiding talking about whatever's bothering you ever since- ever since I killed Oshiro." I took a deep breath of my own. Across the room, Arashi thrummed with satisfaction. Damn spirit, trying to make everything a problem to be solved. She'd been nagging me to cut the tangled knot of my guilt and straighten things out with Shinju the whole way back. "How am I supposed to know what you're thinking unless I hit you hard enough to crack open your shell, 'pearl'?"

I didn't have time to congratulate myself on that turn of phrase when she finally turned to look at me head on. "Can't you just look at me and know? Isn't that what you're supposed to be good at, ferreting out information before someone's even said a word to you?" The flat, hard tone was gone, replaced by the bitter lilt of someone who'd already started to crack. Oh, Shinju.

Still, my teeth ground. I clasped my hands together as my pulse pounded in them, ready to tighten into fists and sock Shinju one. Wouldn't it be nice to see that delicate face marred by a broken jaw.

No. It wouldn't. Shinju was hurting and lashing out. She didn't even know what my parents had said to me. No point in getting mad. I took another deep breath before mustering the words to reply.

"That's not fair," I said, leaning towards her."I'm not my clan. Neither of us is." It was a gamble, albeit one that didn't have much riding on it. But family troubles were a pretty good bet for a minor noble's second daughter fresh from New Year's celebrations. "How about we talk as just ourselves?"

"You aren't, though," she said, lower lip trembling. "You're Shinji-kun's second, and main family of your clan, and y-you have a spirit and everything. It's not fair!"

Second? I put that aside for later thought. Arashi's hilt shimmered near-purple as the light dribbling in through the window grew stronger. "Fairness? If there's someone who judges how worthy you are by your personality, you should have a Zanpakutou, not me."

Shinju sighed, gaze dropping to her lap. Her brush clattered to her desk, spattering it with blots of ink like the flower petals that adorned her sleeves. "Yes. But I don't want to talk about school when we're technically still on vacation. How'd it go after I left?"

I frowned, ready to insist on talking about whatever was bothering her. But there was a catch in her throat, all but begging me to answer her question and let the conversation flow away from the nasty, prickly problems. Or maybe my own willingness to believe that she wanted that. Either way, she wasn't going to say anything more. "It went. We froze our butts off when that snowstorm hit, but the actual New Year's celebration was fun. I got so much mochi!" I clapped my hands over my childish smile at remembering the sweet, squishy treats. I could practically taste them. Or maybe the snow's resemblance to powdered sugar was getting to me. I let my hands fall to tug at my kimono sleeve, a number in beautiful golden-cream laced with delicate red camellias. "And this, actually. It was a reward for getting Shikai, or something."

Shinju sniffled, turning to face me fully. "What do you mean, 'or something'? They didn't officially make you a princess?"

I shrugged. The kimono was a sign of approval in itself, tasteful and seasonally appropriate. "They had a lot on their hands at the time. Gossip stops for no man." I grinned at her. "Especially not when all the nobles have just had huge parties. Always a little dirt to scrape up. I bet they'll get around to it sooner or later."

Shinju's silvery brows drew together, smoothing a moment later as she appeared to come to some sort of internal resolution. "Well, I suppose that's true. Although I'm not sure if you could call my family's New Year's gathering a party, you know? Everything's so-"

"Traditional?" I guessed, trying to picture a Kuchiki party and failing. There would probably be protocols for small talk and rules about gift-giving and all that.

Shinju's frown reappeared and vanished again. A lot of her expressions, I noted, were transient, seen briefly before resuming a placid mask. "Subdued. Really pretty, really nice, just... quiet, you know." Her hakama rustled as she shifted position. Shinju's perpetual slight smile widened, looking almost genuine. "My brother and I composed this beautiful renga together. And everyone else agreed! That it was beautiful, that is. Let me see if I can remember a line." She tapped her chin with a finger that was, naturally, unmarred by ink. How some people managed to do that was beyond me. "Ah, here we go. 'Frost-crested branches—in them, golden spring promised, yet zouni beckon.' That was the opening verse, I think."

I drummed my fingers on my desk, counting out the rhythm. Well, it worked. Who knew Shinju had a knack for poetry? Actually, thinking about it, what did I know about her that wasn't school- or family-related? Not enough. I'd never been good at working with others and it showed now. Note to self: fix that. "Pretty! Did you get an award?" I tilted my head at her, trying to channel all my energy into being girly and sociable and likable.

Apparently it worked, because Shinju's smile widened and kept up the genuine look while it did. "Do you really need an award besides bragging rights? But yes, we did. My brother got this ornament for his Zanpakutou and I got this paperweight!" She fished a lump out from under her sleeve. I blinked away sun spots as the sun came out from behind a cloud and caught whatever it was. Jeez, someone likes their shinies. When my vision cleared, Shinju was holding out-

 _Shiny!_ chirped sparks and foam.

 _Waking up, magpie?_ I teased before turning my attention back to the aforementioned shiny. Shinju was holding out possibly the only paperweight that could make me actually want a paperweight. A lurid blue morning glory turned its blossom toward me. Smaller morning glories ringed it, trailing green vines and leaves spreading out in iridescent teal.

"What's it made of?" I asked, using my gaping mouth for one of its actual purposes. "That can't be stone. Right?"

Shinju beamed. "See, there is something you don't know. It's glass! The flowers were painted on with molten colored glass, I think my lady mother said. The glass workers would know." She flapped a hand like she didn't really care about the process or the workers. "And the way it shimmers... I forget, honestly. I was just happy to win, you know?"

"Sheesh," I commented, drawing on the sly charm that was my birthright, "if that's what you get for winning poetry contests, I should start writing!" And then promptly ruined it by adding, "Speaking. Whatever."

Shinju giggled. She picked up her brush again and finished the letter, or what I assumed to be a letter. One quick, neat folding later and Shinju was tying it up. Yep, letter.

"Didn't you just see your family?" I asked, idly playing with a wisp of reiatsu. Well, idly wasn't the right word for it. It took more concentration than I'd hoped to have to move it when it wasn't tethered to my skin. My grades in Kidou weren't shaping up to be as stellar as my skill with essays. "Leave something behind?"

She glanced up from her letter, giving me the mixed innocent-annoyed look that nearly had me ready to punch her again. "You didn't see the notice? There's an end-of-the-year field trip for first-years. My brother warned me about it, so I thought I'd send a letter home so they knew if I didn't respond it wasn't because I'd been kidnapped, you know?" The smirk from before flickered across Shinju's face. "You really didn't know? It's more of an internship, from what I've heard. Different every time, so no one has an advantage."

 _Aw, fuck. There goes all my plans. No familiar bed, no library, no warning. I've heard of practical exams, but this is ridiculous!_ I swallowed back the bitter anger in my throat. I was too old to be whining, dammit. _But I'd just gotten back- No whining!_ "Where is it? I didn't see anything," I said, fighting the groan dragging my voice a few notes lower. "You'd think I'd-"

"-there's a notice board at the center of campus," Shinju interrupted. She was having a field day with knowing more than me, wasn't she.

 _We need to work on your anger management, daoshi,_ Arashi mused. _People can be aware of things you aren't._

 _I know,_ I snapped back. _It's just kinda annoying that she has to be so smug about it!_

The curl of a wave, like a raised eyebrow. _And you think you aren't, sometimes? Your pretense could use a little more work._

I turned back to the real world. Clearly today was gang-up-on-Nariko day."Really?" I asked, keeping my voice and face bright. "So what, do people post about lost cats?" The mental image of Urahara putting up posters for Yoruichi gave my laugh some genuine humor. "That'd be kinda funny, huh?"

Shinju blinked. "No, I don't think so. Notices for important school events, clubs that apparently first-years aren't allowed to join"-she pulled a face that almost took the edge off my annoyance- "and illegal tournaments." Shinju sniffed, standing and smoothing her hakama. "Some people actually sneak off campus to fight for prizes! Can you imagine? They should all get expelled, but some of the teachers turn a blind eye to it since they did it too."

I filed the information away. A club might look appealing come graduation. I stood, not bothering to neaten my kimono. Time to check that board. And while I was at it, find out who else had known about this field trip.

* * *

I decided to kill two birds with one stone and head to the library. First, Aizen and Minoru might be there—well, Aizen more likely, but Minoru had begun forays into basic kanji. And second, I needed to do some research.

Research came first. I slid into one of the library's many pairs of indoor slippers and padded over to the desk. Some poor upperclassman was stuck sorting scrolls today. I figured he was better than nothing if I wanted to avoid searching through a million shelves. "Excuse me?"

His head jerked up. My hand shot out to catch the glasses that fell off his nose with the abruptness of the movement. I missed, naturally, but they clattered to the desk's dark wood harmlessly. Great. I'd gotten the absent-minded professor of library workers.

And yet I couldn't help my irritation fading as he set their wire frames back into their proper place. Dude just had this thing about him, like a much taller, blond-brunet version of Hanatarou, that made him instantly endearing. "Ah, sorry about that. How can I help?" His voice had the sound of someone who'd said the same thing far too many times, but I forgave it. The amount of idiots late on projects one got in here, it wouldn't have surprised me if he had said that many times. The bruiselike moons under each eye didn't indicate a particular ability to think clearly at the moment.

I steeled myself against the instinctive 'ahh, an upperclassman!' reaction. Having to crane up at him didn't help, though. "Um, I'm looking for some history on paranormal abilities. Instinctive learning of zankensoki, Kidou without formal training, reiatsu sense. And sensing Zanpakutou." I hoped like hell he hadn't noticed the way I'd slipped that in there. He didn't look like he'd be on the Onmitsukidou track, but you never knew. That might make him the perfect onmitsu. But no, a pulse of my reiatsu brought back the crackle of a fire-type Zanpakutou to match the charcoal smears on his fingers. Probably. "And I don't know if there are student records or anything, but I was looking into a-an old friend I'd lost touch with after he came here." For a given value of friend, it was true. Oshiro and I had known each other. I'd liked him for a while.

 _Are you sure you want to do this?_ murmured brooks and distant thunder. _He-_

 _This ends here,_ I replied. If mental voices could be grim, mine was. _You're the only good thing I got out of that. The rest of his influence can go to hell._

I focused on the intern—he had the look of an intern, even if that wasn't really the same here—again. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I, ah- the second one. The second one first. We have some, for famous students or teachers as long as they're still teaching here. It's supposed to be, I don't know, an example or something? An example for students. Yes, that's it. I know where that is. The first one, hmm. I'd check the section on techniques or maybe history."

We stared at each other for a few minutes before he processed that I wanted to know where.

The intern blinked worryingly black-ringed eyes. Yeah, someone had better get the guy a day off before he collapsed. Maybe sleep deprivation would prepare him for the Fourth if he went there. "Three rows back against the left wall. Anything there might be, uh, pretty disorganized. There was a project rush before break."

"Thanks," I murmured, turning in my heel to find my intended prey. Maybe it was the lingering echoes of Zanpakutou as my system finally settled, but I could've sworn I heard him mumble, "Are you the one with the cute cousin?"

Ignoring Hiyori's potential love interest—and I really didn't want to think about that— I closed in on the shelf in question with a sinking heart. Oshiro's file had probably been moved. On the other hand, it was pretty chaotic, less a shelf than a pile of scrolls threatening to spill off their designated platforms.

 _There!_ A scroll with the kanji for castle stamped on its cap. I snatched it up, popping off the cap and unfurling the damn thing. _Let the truth be known._

A quick skim—alright, it was a read-through, but I read quickly—turned up almost nothing. It was your typical polished crap, all praise and barely any meat. Made me wonder if that was why Oshiro'd gotten as far as he had. If no one had bothered to really look closely at the guy, he could've been as suspicious as he wanted.

 _Hang on. '...achieved numerous distinctions in Zanjutsu despite social setbacks in his initial years and struggles in Kidou.' That's something._ I scanned the text again. There it was again, a couple more references to some kind of social troubles and 'proving that a truly valiant Shinigami must be judged on his skills and not the judgment of his peers.'

I sucked in a breath, released it with a shudder. Processing wasn't done, but I had something.

Looking around in the section on Shinigami abilities—okay, almost entirely the zankensoki—yielded almost nothing. There was a small scroll that seemed to be on the science of spiritual senses, insofar as science existed here. I snatched that and went looking around the history section. Which... ugh. Well-organized, at least, but Soul Society really liked its history. Every imaginable historical topic in easily a dozen language, organized by eras with names that sounded like B-list magical girl attacks. 'Northern Dawn Bloom Peace,' anyone? I scooped up a bundle of scrolls marked 'Warring States' and headed to my library alcove.

As weird as it was, I smelled Aizen before I saw him. The room I usually made my den in smelled old and stale, while Aizen... didn't. He had a certain scent about him, an odd mix of teenage boy musk and deep-woods pine. He valiantly tried to mask it with the gold osmanthus-scented soap from the bathhouses around campus, but I knew him by that unique perfume anyway.

I shuffled my feet as I approached, mentally snickering. _'Don't tap on the glass, may startle Aizens.'_ I saw his deliberate nonreaction before I spoke, wondering even as I chirped his name why he hadn't said anything first.

 _Shy kid,_ I reminded myself as I fought to keep from dropping my armful of scrolls. _Probably overrides the 'appease the noble' instinct when there's no one else around._

Aizen glanced up, adjusting his glasses as they tried to make a run for it. "Nariko-san? I didn't hear you come in. You're done unpacking?"

 _Bull,_ I thought, blocking the word's escape with a wall of teeth. _You actually acted like a normal human being instead of a wild animal and I know even you can't change that fast._ "Sure am. I try to pack light," I added when the silence hung between us for a few seconds. Nervous much? snarked a voice in the back of my head. I shushed it and continued. "Can I sit with you? These things are going to fall any second." I twitched my chin at the scrolls. Any more motion would've started an avalanche.

He nodded, simultaneously scooching over and sweeping his own material aside to make space for mine. "It's your usual table anyway," he murmured as I dumped today's reading material in front of us. "What're these for?"

Sheesh, this conversation felt like I was constantly playing catch-up, answering one question only to get hit with another. "Sweet," I drawled, fixing him with my best 'aww, I could kiss you but not really' smile. Yes, there was a smile for that. "I'm touched, really." I nodded at the scrolls, resolving to follow this charade of a conversation. "These? I'm doing some light reading."

"Fine, don't tell me," someone else grumbled through Aizen's mouth. Word-perfect, not a hint of hesitation, but the tone marked them as someone else's words. A novel's, maybe. My head was starting to ache from how much analysis I was going to have to do.

But since the pleasant Nariko I needed to curry favor with Aizen wouldn't have complained, I relented. "Oh, fine. I'm taking a look at Oshiro-sensei, the real one. I just- I have to know why. The rest of them are just my own interest. Shinigami weren't always like this, right? I want to know what they were like. Or what Seireitei says they were like, at any rate."

A ghost of a smile touched Aizen's lips. "Courting danger, Nariko-san?"

I brushed a lock of damnably long hair back over my shoulder. Had to get it cut as soon as I had salary enough to not rely on the clan stipend, which was strictly not for haircuts above a certain length. My clan liked its members with long hair. "No more than they're making me on this field trip," I answered. "Did you know about that?"

From the way Aizen went as white as a Hollow's mask, he hadn't. "F-field trip?" he stammered, fingers starting up a rhythm against the table's surface. I fought the urge to rap his knuckles with a scroll. "Th-they're making us do f-field work? With r-real targets?"

I shrugged, keeping a careful watch on his darting eyes and listening just as carefully to the rapid wheeze of his breathing. "I don't know, Aizen-san." _Personalize it. Remind him of who he's masquerading as right now. Anchor him._ "Junko-chan's brother told her about it." I dropped my voice into the low, hushed tone of someone asking about the topics you didn't usually ask about. "Are you okay? Anything I can do, honest."

 _Can we rule out illnesses from Before?_ Arashi asked, voice barely a whisper at the edge of my mental hearing. Not powerless, just efficient, keeping out of the way.

A pause filled by shuddering breaths that sounded half-blocked by something slimy. "I think so," Aizen answered with convenient timing. I thought an impression of 'yeah, what he said' to Arashi. Slowly his breathing began to even out. When it sounded like each inhale didn't hurt and his eyes lingered in a spot for more than a second, I let the reiryoku that had built up in my hands fade. Like I could do healing Kidou anyway.

 _Probably,_ I answered as my mouth said something soothing. _Not like I know enough to make diagnoses, but I wouldn't peg him as schizophrenic, shitty eye contact notwithstanding. Anxiety is a maybe. Panic attacks?_

 _Short and coherent for panic attacks_ , Arashi murmured. I could feel her sifting through faded memories, pops of mental static going in and out and finally stopping. _You're right, you don't know enough. More watching and waiting, daoshi!_

 _You don't have to sound so gleeful,_ I grumbled. _It's not like you're the one who has to actually pay attention._

"So what're you looking into?" I asked, breaking the ice of awkwardness. "History?"

Aizen shook his head after a moment in a much more Aizen fashion. "Hollows, mostly. Famous ones, famous battles. Some light reading of my own."

"Might as well," I mumbled, bending over a history scroll. "Never know what you'll find."

An hour late, I had found little more than speculation, interesting though it was. There was occasionally reference to psychics, 'farseers,' shamans, all that crap. Mostly they turned up in stories of old battles with descriptions of battle auras and valiant spirits that seemed to stand in for willpower. Ambiguous enough that one wouldn't even think that the references were anything but poetic. Maybe I was reading into things and they were. In a few cases, there were intrigues in which a spy disguised himself as a clan member and another person—always the heir—sniffed him out. More often, a person in the perfect position to inherit if the main branch was discredited discovered corruption by 'hearing their inner self.' Telling words.

The most interesting were the tales of wars being fought over someone with those powers. In this scroll, a clan leader fought to reclaim his daughter, a girl who 'through cleverness and divine favor discerned the thoughts of friend and foe.' Of course, she ended up brainwashed, spilling everyone's secrets before going insane and trying to kill him. Whole clan ended up dead when Daddy Dearest couldn't bear to kill his little girl. In another- yep, a kid saw a girl's beautiful soul and fell in love with her. Turned out she was from another clan and he decided to kill his own to be with her. Surprise, she didn't love him back and he died.

Most read like stories. Great ways to push ideas on impressionable kids, right? Tell 'em a story and watch the themes repeat.

I sat back, rolling my shoulders and hearing my back pop. Clearly I needed to start working towards a better posture. Terrific. "End up with supposedly impossible powers that are actually extensions of a natural ability and are thus beyond your control? You're either going to go crazy or betray your clan. Or both and you die no matter what."

No. That wasn't quite right. If you kept the order of things or if you were already favored by it—noble and orthodox, basically—you could get away with it. I couldn't help noticing that most of the positively-portrayed psychics, for lack of a better word, were either tied to the Wakahisa or Kuchiki. I supposed that both made sense, the ruling houses being judges and soldiers respectively. The Shihouin wouldn't share that information if they had it, while the Shiba probably didn't care as long as it didn't wreck their harmony. Who the heck even knew what went on with the Takamiya. All Asami had been able to teach me about their origin was that they'd founded the Kidou Corps and tried to use them to make a power grab. That'd gone over pretty badly and ended up with the Takamiya losing their taste for political activity, so mostly they just managed passive holdings and everything Kidou. Tech, actual Kidou, the Kidou Corps, that sort of stuff. Brought their weight to bear occasionally, but it was a sleeping giant thing.

Point was that the Takamiya might be involved, but there was no practical way to find out. I discarded them. That wasn't important. None of this was. Knowing the history was what mattered. Knowing that Unohana was right, that I had the potential to be dangerous not because of who I was but because of what people associated with me, that was what mattered.

Oshiro I had nothing but guesswork on. I excused myself from Aizen's and my impromptu research session, finding places for some of my scrolls as I left. I knew everything I needed to know.

What I didn't know, it turned out, was where exactly the jinzen rooms I'd registered my Zanpakutou at were. Eventually I found my way over, to the relief of tingling fingers.

"Man, it's cold," I said, because that was what one said when they entered a building in winter and found strangers there. The man at the desk spared me a glance before nodding at the sign-in sheet and returning to his reading. A stealthy glance over at the scroll half-unrolled in front of him made it pretty clear that Desk Man didn't have much in the way of relationships, but that wasn't my business. I left him to that and headed for a room, hoping Arashi's waters would scrub away what I'd seen.

* * *

"I don't know how much help I'll be, daoshi," Arashi murmured, face obscured, strangely, by a paper fan. Where she even got that I didn't know, let alone how she could kneel with bird legs. "I was unleashed in our conflict with the blood-metal man. We owe him, in a sense, for that."

We knelt beneath a pavilion, looking out at the Zen garden that dominated the temple landscape. My eyes slid away from the white sand to the cloudscape beyond the mountaintop. "We don't owe him anything. I would've learned your name eventually," I countered, attention split between talking to her and continuing to breathe deeply.

"Not any time soon, daoshi," Arashi said, giving me the side-eye. "You're too reactive, as the crimson man says. You don't take action enough."

I huffed. "Well, what am I supposed to take action against? You want me to murder Aizen before he gets a chance to be a supervillain? Find the Quincy shadow realm? Make the Hougyoku all by my lonesome? Might as well just start killing everyone! Who knows what they might do?"

"Don't twist my words," Arashi scolded. "You know I wasn't suggesting that. You know just as well as I do that you would've kept meditating and meditating and never done anything that would've made me want to give you my power."

I hunched my shoulders as if they'd hide my burning face. "So you're saying that the fact that I panicked when he was about to kill me makes me a hero? I'm not a hero, Arashi. I just didn't want to die with nothing done. If that got me Shikai, why the heck wouldn't some dedicated meditation have done it? Devotion right there."

"I'm not bonded to some hotblooded young man who needs to learn patience, daoshi," Arashi said, adjusting her sakkat. "You wouldn't grow from making a routine of something you wanted anyway. Fighting back and resisting evil for a noble goal, that is why I gave you my power then. You didn't shy away from-"

"-from murdering someone?" I interrupted, shoving an unruly lock of hair away from my face. The more I said it, the easier it became to hear those damning words.

"From protecting yourself! From protecting anyone else the blood-metal man might have hurt! From avenging his previous victims!" Arashi's head snapped around, silver fabric fanning out like a halo around her. Her smooth rice-powder mask was creased by a scowl. "What was your intent, daoshi? Not to kill senselessly! You knew he wasn't going to back down. You knew he had killed without remorse! If you could've found another way to stop him, would you have taken it?"

"Of course!" I blurted. Why was that even a question? She knew I would've done anything to escape without killing him.

"Then why are you beating yourself up for it? The approval of Soul Society doesn't mean you should hate it!" Arashi said. Rain was beginning to patter on the pavilion's roof. "If a Hollow says it's from Hueco Mundo, it isn't wrong, no matter how monstrous it is. And you aren't wrong for defending yourself against that man just because Soul Society applauds your action. You hurt no one else by killing the blood-metal man, you saved yourself, you feel remorse for it. Stop trying to find an excuse to shirk your duties."

The wind whistled past, torture on already-chapped lips that couldn't offer any counterargument. Not one that didn't make me feel like a dirty coward, anyway.

"I'm scared," I managed after a few minutes. The rain had slowed to mist. "I don't want- it's hard. I don't know if I can keep killing like this and I have to, don't I? It's supposed to be wrong to kill, but I guess we're not in Kansas anymore, are we?"

Arashi chuckled. "No, I suppose not. But there you have it. The difference between you and a murderer isn't what you've done, daoshi. It's your intent. You just have to- live with it. Yes, that's it."

A stupid, impulsive idea entered my head. "Can I go do something silly?" I asked, disentangling myself from seiza and standing.

"It's your world too, daoshi," Arashi pointed out, face half-hidden by an overlong sleeve. I hoped she hid an amused smile rather than a smirk. "Do what you want."

I kept her words in my head as I headed for the edge of the mountaintop. I wasn't going to chicken out now. Oshiro was done intruding on my life and if he was still out there somewhere, I had to let him know it.

"You're done here!" I shouted, turning my face to fully face the wind so it could chase away how ridiculous I felt. "Get out! I won't let you make me feel guilty for living! You gave me no choice and I will not feel guilty for defending myself, Oshiro! Or whoever you really were!"

It was the stupidest thing in the world to cry about. I never cried when I was happy. But maybe the feeling crashing over me, chasing shame from my veins with each heartbeat, wasn't happy. Maybe it was relief. Whatever it was, the water the wind carried away into the sky wasn't from the koi pond.

The crack of thunder and deluge of summer-warm rainwater a second later might've had something to do with it. But probably not.

Silk rustled behind me. I turned to see Arashi there, close enough that her heavy layers were all that prevented her from feeling my breath. I had just enough presence of mind not to back up as arms padded with silk and feathers folded awkwardly around my shoulders.

"That's the wielder I gave my name to," she murmured, clipped voice softening. "People are going to hear your voice, daoshi. Not just some washed-up spirit and me. Keep shouting, my chimera."

"Not right now, I hope," I mumbled into her inexplicably mammalian chest. "I'm the harmless bookworm right now, remember."

She released a huff of air that wasn't quite a laugh. "Yes, of course. Now, how about some training while you're here? Your footwork on unstable terrain could use work."

"Oh, fine."

* * *

The assembly for the first-years' field trip was right after dinner, giving me barely enough time to quiz Nanase about it. He swore forwards and backwards and in every possible direction, despite Shinji's passionate insistence that he must've known, that he'd honestly forgotten about the whole ordeal.

"I blocked it out!" Nanase had claimed, waving his hands frantically at us. Which gave me exactly no hope for this little excursion, but it was no use making up my mind before I'd even found out what it'd be about. Apparently the current second-years had served internships in Seireitei itself, which had been bad enough that the class had actually lost a few students. Nanase's group had been stationed in the Living World, which didn't sound so bad until one considered that war had absolutely been a thing then.

Joy.

So we all, minus Nanase, dutifully piled into one of Shin'ou's many lecture halls. By some miracle Aizen found five seats together towards the back. Shinji didn't have a reason to gripe about having to look like he was paying attention, giving us a nice bit of time to chat about the weather and other pointless stuff.

The dull roar of everyone else's talking subsided. Time to listen.

"First-years!" Ounabara boomed. "Those of you with family members who are graduates of this fine institute may already have inklings of what I'm about to say. Those few who have learned to pay attention to notice boards" -Shinju stuck out her tongue at me- "may also be aware. You'll be getting some practical experience this semester." He actually had to raise a hand to quiet everyone again. I supposed it was pretty big news for a bunch of kids itching for a chance to prove themselves as something better than the fresh meat of Shin'ou.

"This year's trial is a post with security patrols in the Rukongai. Your time at this institution has started you on the path to being the pinnacle of martial prowess. The districts we assign you to will be appropriately difficult," Ounabara continued. "If you do not return, the chaff has been separated from the wheat."

Well, damn. Ounabara hadn't even paused in saying that. Either he believed it unflinchingly or he'd said it to several previous classes. Both were chilling prospects.

"Putting down insurrection is a valuable skill for Shinigami to possess. Some districts may include former Quincy. Others, yakuza. Some will certainly hold the seeds of rebellion. Much gossip has reached me" -he swept a disapproving glance over the class, as if to say that he'd put down those rumors- "concerning the atypical events of this year. If you thought the rest of you would escape unblooded, think again. Even if your blade doesn't send a soul on, you will be given reason to remember proper sword-cleaning technique."

It was easier, having talked with Arashi, to not look around at my classmates for the inevitable stares. Nearly as easy to keep breathing without feeling an iron grip on my lungs.

"You'll be sent in groups. Assignments will be given based on social groups according to your teachers' observations. Overly large circles will be broken up, but it's our priority to make sure you'll be invested in protecting your comrades. The Shinigami you will be working with will train you to value the mission above lesser matters, but a foundation of trust may be what gets you through your first true test," Ounabara intoned. I'd never really had occasion to think of anyone as intoning anything, but Ounabara really did. I supposed decades of making speeches to teenagers about to see battle gave him practice.

I joined my classmates in a collective jump as Ounabara clapped his hands. No way he didn't have some kind of Kidou that amplified sound here. On second thought, no. That would've been too trivial for someone with as serious a face as his.

"Students in the left column of seats may see Honshou-sensei, Lau-sensei, and Kotetsu-sensei for assignments. Students in the middle, see Nguyen-sensei, Ise-sensei, and Kurosawa-sensei. Students in the right, see Aikawa-sensei, Kim-sensei, and Maeng-sensei."

With that, Ounabara left us to navigating our way through the mob of students clamoring to know what they'd be spending the rest of the school year doing. Aizen had found seats on the right, which proved pretty lucky. I wasn't super keen on approaching a teacher I didn't know.

As luck would have it, traffic nudged me towards Love anyway.

He glanced up from juggling his over-long scroll. "And you are- right, Hirako. Did you know you've got a cousin? Comes up to about my elbow, tried to kick me in the shins when I said she'd be going with you? Anyway, you're off to West 64th, Kinsawa. Better than it sounds, honest. Next!"

I let the crowd push me out the door. A quick scan of the crowd revealed no familiar heads, though Minoru wasn't terribly distinctive from behind and he was too short to be spotted easily anyway. Oh well. Shivering in the thawing air wasn't that bad.

"Where are you going? You're with me, right?"

Holy balls. I spun around to find Shinju bouncing on her tiptoes behind me. How the- ah, another exit. Finally, something with a clear answer.

"If you're going to Kinsawa, yes!" I beamed at her, matching her bouncing as much as I could. Bless the lean Hirako frame for not... bouncing... as much. "Are you? Maybe we'll bunk together!"

Well, that seemed to be working pretty well, even if my temples were aching. How did Shinju do this saccharine routine all day? Didn't she get sick of it? "Yes! I thought we might, you know, because of what they said, you know? Do you think your brother will be sent there too?"

Shinji and Shinju. Eww. "I'm sure he'll find a way to be even if he isn't," I replied, glancing around for Minoru and Aizen. Well, that hadn't come out filtered, but it didn't matter when Minoru melted out of the crowd, Aizen trailing behind.

"Y-y'all got Kinsawa?" Minoru stammered. Damn, I hadn't heard his accent that strong in a while. "Only that's Aizen's an' my assignment."

"Sure thing," Shinji drawled from right behind me, because of course he did. "Safe ta assume that'll be Junko-chan and Narin's stompin' grounds too, yeah?"

"Yep!" Shinju chirped as I drove my elbow into Shinji's side. I had to keep enough bizarre people straight as it was. Shinji did not get to get away with mixing me up about myself too. I ignored his wheezing attempts to cuss me out. "Oh, that's so great! We're all together, you know? Maybe some of the rest of us will get to show off, huh, Hirako-chan?"

The heat in my face could've come from the instinctive embarrassment that brought a mumbling reply from me. Or it could've come from my growing irritation with her. Okay, so I'd had an inordinate number of mishaps here. So I definitely did like people recognizing it when I did something cool. Not my fault.

I tossed a look Shinji's way and laughed for everyone else. "Yeah, maybe. Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

Shinji rolled his eyes. "Now ya gone an' jinxed it fer us, Nariko. This better not end with us havin' ta explain ta Nanase-kun why he got one less friend."

Minoru's polite-worried expression creased into a scowl. "That ain't funny, Shinji-san," he snapped. "We can't afford ta joke around like that with the kind of thugs they got runnin' around there." His hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing as if the mud permeating the thawing campus had splattered there.

Shinji shrugged, stuffing his hands into his sleeves as the crowd dispersed enough to let us head for our rooms. "Suit yerself. I think I'm pretty funny."

"You would, wouldn't you?" I teased as we set off. "Let's see how the real Shinigami like your jokes."


End file.
